


Under the Eagle's Shadow

by Palatinedreams



Series: The Long Way Home [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Historical, Ancient Germany, Ancient History, Ancient Rome, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Time Travel, partly accurate history
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23905213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palatinedreams/pseuds/Palatinedreams
Summary: When the Super Hive was destroyed before it could conquer Earth, not all Wraith were on board and died in the explosion.Areon is one of those fighting against Atlantis and Earth with his Dart. When he tries to escape two Earth fighters and opens a window to hyperspace, a solar flare throws him back to Earth and he crashes on the planet.When he wakes up again after his coma, he finds himself in a completely different world, captured and questioned by strong and powerful humans who call themselves Romans and believe that they are meant to rule the world. It takes him some time to realize that the solar flare threw him back hundreds of years in time, and now he has to find a way to survive and make it back to his own kin.Marcus Antonius Victorius, first centurion of the proud Legion I Germanica, is the one who captured him, and Areon soon realizes that there is much more about the humans from Earth than he ever knew...
Relationships: Centurion Marcus Antonius Victorius/Areon the Wraith, Original Male Character/Original Wraith Character
Series: The Long Way Home [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872316
Comments: 63
Kudos: 21





	1. Introductions, Notes and Explanations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dragonflower1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonflower1/gifts).



> Happy birthday, my dear dragonflower1!!!
> 
> Times are difficult and this is surely not the day you wished for, but I do hope that this story will please and entertain you and make your day a little bit more special. <33
> 
> **Please check out Eos1969's wonderful work _Fanart for 'Under the Eagle's Shadow'_ , she drew Areon and Marcus in a wonderful piece of art!!!!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter is an introduction with notes and explanations, meant to inform about the historical background and the Latin words, the places and the historical people showing up here. I will add things and edit it along the way, so you'll be able to follow and understand everything without problems.

The idea to this story came to me when I read the book series _Eagles Of Rome_ from the author _Ben Kane,_ and dove back into _dragonflower1's_ wonderful stories about Todd, John and their Wraith.

The hierarchy and culture of Wraith Hives actually reminded me pretty much of Roman legions and their dynamic and unique way of life and culture, and I began to muse about how a Wraith would feel if he got stuck on Earth during the time of the Roman Empire. Would he recognize and acknowledge the similarities and begin to understand those 'impudent' humans from another galaxy better? Would he find himself in the mindset of Roman conquerors who thought that they had every right to rule the world just because they were Romans? Would he find a new sense of Hive-mind among his human brothers-in-arms? Would he be able to adjust to this new world and circumstances like so many different people and nations on Earth adapted to new cultures and ways of life over the centuries and millennia?

This story is what came out, and for the better understanding I decided to add a list with explanations of the names, words and setting you can go back to if necessary. The list isn't complete, I will add more information along the road.

I am also aware that there is the issue with the time paradox. This story is not meant to start a scientific discussion and be physically correct in any way. It's meant to be fun and entertainment, so please ignore the possible paradoxes that might appear in any way. Solar flares could throw teams going through a wormhole back in time in Stargate SG1, I used a solar flare for this story too, only together with a hyperspace window.

The historical references are mostly accurate as far as I can confirm them, there is only little known about the battles in Germania at this time, but the legions, places and historical people mentioned here have existed.

I did my best to describe the events in the way Marcus and his men would probably have seen and experienced them. Superstition was widely distributed in ancient times, and for most Romans being sent to Germania felt like a punishment. The Romans hated the wilderness and the weather, and they surely feared the beasts and 'monsters' that lived in the thick forests in their opinion. They didn't know anything about spaceships and alien races from other planets, for them Wraith would either be some Germanic gods, ghosts or other supernatural beings.

I also decided to address the language issue. The one thing that always struck me odd was that in the Stargate universe all people seemed to speak and understand English – except for a few alien races. They never needed translators, perhaps the help of Daniel Jackson, but even the descendants from the Egyptians or Greeks seemed to know English. Even in Pegasus, they all understood John and his team right away.

We know that the Ancient language is closely related to Latin – or ancient Latin related to their language, depending on how one looks at it - and I think we can assume that the Wraith all know the language of the Ancients as well. Therefore it would most likely be rather easy for my Wraith to communicate with the Romans, but I decided not to let him understand the ancient language the old Germanic tribes were speaking.

Marcus living in Germania for so long learned to communicate with the tribes in their own language, but Areon doesn't know this language.

_**List of Latin words, names, places and their meaning in alphabetical order:** _

_**Areon** _: petty officer and warrior of the Super Hive stranding on Earth. The name I've chosen for the Wraith main character.

I mused a rather long time about it, as the name had to be related to Latin as a derivative of the language of the Ancients and sound 'Germanic' enough at the same time. _Ares_ is the Greek god of war, the role model for the Roman god _Mars_ . _Areion_ was the Greek name of a mysterious horse, the son of the gods Poseidon and Demeter. _'Areon'_ is a combination of Ares and Areion with a good sound, and the meaning I gave it in my world is 'brave fighter'.

_**Marcus Antonius Victorius** _: First centurion of the Legion I Germanica. My main Roman character.

Roman names were confined through the praenomen (birthname), the gentile name (family name) and sometimes a third cognomen. This was necessary as the Romans actually knew only 18 real praenomens. Marcus with its meaning _dedicated to the god Mars_ was the most common one among these 18 first names, and it's my favorite Roman name ever, so my Roman heroes usually answer to Marcus. :-) Antonius is my second favorite name, but as it's actually a family name – its meaning _'belonging to the Antonius-family' -_ I decided that my main character is an offspring of this house like the well-known general and friend of Gaius Julius Caesar known as Marc Anthony.

Victorius is Marcus' cognomen. Cognomen were necessary because the praenomen and gentile names oftentimes were not enough to identify people. Cognomen were epithets and nick names at first, describing special looks or attitudes. The Latin word victorius has the same meaning as the English word vitorious, so my Marcus must have been triumphant in the past. :-)

_**Arminius (Hermann) the Cheruscan** _: historical person.

Arminius was the son of a Cheruscan chief and came to Rome together with his brother Flavus when he was still a young boy. He was raised in one of Rome's noble families, in these times hostages of allied tribes and nations were treated well and taught the Roman way of life. Arminius fought in the Roman legions for years and knew the Roman way to fight, their tactics, strengths and weaknesses by heart.

He was the military leader of the Roman Alae, horse artilleries which consisted of the allied nations Rome had included in their empire. He conspired against Rome and united most of the Germanic tribes in a huge army in the year 9 AC, when Quinctilius Varus was the proconsul in Germania and raised the taxes the tribes had to pay. In autumn 9 AC Arminius decoyed Varus into an ambush in the region known as Teutoburg Forest.

Roman legions were almost invincible in battles on open fields, but on small muddy paths they were vulnerable because they couldn't resume their battle formations there. Arminius' army killed and destroyed three large Roman legions, taking their standards from them, the golden Roman Eagle each legionary was deeply devoted to. The obliterated legions were the Legion XVII, the Legion XVIII and the Legion IXX, more than 15.000 men. The numbers of the survivors are not known, but there can't have been more than a few hundred perhaps.

Arminius fought against Germanicus in the years 15 and 16 AC again, but even though he managed to force the four legions Legatus Aulus Caecina Severus commanded into another battle on muddy and wooded ground when they were returning to the Rhine in autumn of the year 15 AC, but he couldn't defeat them and Germanicus won the battles in the next year and also managed to take Arminius' pregnant wife Thusnelda hostage. Arminius lost the support of the other Teuton tribes after that, and he died in the year 20 or 21 AC, most likely killed by his own people.

_**Imperator Germanicus** _: Nero Claudius Germanicus, son of Nero Claudius Drusus, nephew of the second Roman Princeps Tiberius (later known as Emperor Tiberius). Historical person.

Germanicus was the Chief Commander of the Roman armies stationed in ancient Germany and Gaul. He led four respectively eight legions in two large campaigns against Arminius alliances of Germanic tribes in the years 15 and 16 AC to defeat him and take revenge for the humiliation the loss of three entire legions had brought upon the Roman Empire. He also ended a mutiny among the legions stationed in Castra Vetera (Camp Vetera, today Xanten in North Rhine-Westphalia) that broke out in 15 AC. Even though he won against Arminius in 16 AC, but Tiberius decided that the losses of legionaries and supplies weren't worth the efforts any longer, and the Rhine remained the frontier to the free parts of Germania. Germanicus got a big victory parade in 17 AC and died 19 AC in Antiochia. His wife claimed that he'd been poisoned at Tiberius' order, but the official reason for his death was a not further named disease. His son Caligula (little boot) succeeded Tiberius when he died, going down in history as one of the cruellest and most terrible Roman emperors ever.

_**Legatus Aulus Caecina Severus:**_ Commander of the four legions Legion I, Legion V, Legion XX and Legion XXI, the Roman army of Germania Inferior. Historical person. He almost died in the battle against Arminius on his return to the Rhine in the year 15 AC in a swampy region. The battle is known as the battle at the _Pontes longi_ , a 'road' of wooden footbridges Germanicus' father Drusus had built with his legions years ago to bridge the swamps. The wood was rotten after the long time of course, and Arminius' warriors took advantage of that and almost defeated Caecina's legions.

_**Cerberus:** _hell hound with three heads, guarding the entrance to the underworld Hades.

_**Donar (Thor):**_ The Teuton god of thunder, one of the highest ranking Teuton gods.

_**Fortuna:**_ Roman goddess of fortune and luck. She was known to be very moody.

_**Fulgur:** _Marcus' faithful stallion. Fulgur is the Latin word for lightning, flash.

_**Jupiter:**_ the Roman version of the Greek god Zeus. The highest ranking Roman god, the godfather.

_**Mars:**_ Roman god of war, his Greek counterpart is Ares.

_**Ara Ubiorum:** _the city the west Germanic tribe of the Ubii, Roman allies, built when they moved to the west shore of the Rhine. Ara Ubiorum means altar of the Ubii. Ara Ubiorum developed to the City Cologne (Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippinensium) later. Two legions were deployed in the camp close to Ara Ubiorum, Marcus legion I Germanica too.

**Berserker:** dauntless warriors of various Germanic tribes who painted their faces and bodies with colors and fought naked to look scary and damp the Romans' courage right from the start.

_**Cherusci, Chatti, Marsii, Usipii:**_ Teuton tribes that lived in north Germania and supported Arminius in his war against the Romans. Germanicus punished the Marsii and the Chatti for their support and almost extinguished both tribes to the last man, woman and child. There is no English singular form for the members of most of these tribes, I only found Cheruscan/Cherusci for singualr and plural, the other names are always plural, the singular form obviously doesn't exist. The German names are: Cherusker (both singular and plural), Chatte/Chatten, Marser (singular and plural) and Usipeter (singular and plural).

**Germania:** Roman name for ancient Germany. Germania Magna was the free part of Germania east of the Rhine and the river Weser the Romans tried to include in their empire but never really managed to achieve that.

**Ala,** plural **Alae** : horse artillery consisting of 120 men that had the rank of knights, often from Roman allies like Celts or Teutons or other people. Arminius commanded such an Ala before he turned against Varus to slaughter his legions.

**Aquila:** Latin for eagle. The name for the standard of each legion. The **Aquilifer** carried the golden Roman Eagle into the battle, and losing the standard was the biggest disgrace and humiliation imaginable. Winning the eagle back was a huge honor.

**Armillae:** golden or silver bracelets that were military decorations for braveness.

**Auxilia:** (plural) auxiliary forces. The auxilia consisted of Roman allies like Gauls, Thracians or Teutons for example. They often fought in the first row before the Roman legions joined the battle.

**Calceus:** plural calcei. Soft boots the high ranking Roman officers wore instead of the usual caligae.

**Caliga,** pl, caligae: cleated heavy sandals the Roman legionaries wore, looking like boots but open at the toes.

**Centurion:** commanding officer of the century, consisting of 80 legionaries. The centurion was the highest rank Roman citizens could be promoted to, from the simple legionary up to the centurion over the course of their military service. There were several different ranks among the centurions, the highest one the first centurion of the first century of the first cohort.

**Cingulum:** pl. Cingula. Roman military belt made of thick leather and bronze or iron plates attached to the leather. It served two purposes: to attach the gladius and the pugio to it at each side, and it also protected the groin and the lower torso of the legionary against the weapons of the enemy.

**Cohort:** the cohort consisted of six centuries – 480 legionaries when complete. The first cohort was the most important and honorable cohort, allowed to carry the Aquila into the battle.

**Contubernium,** pl Contubernia: Eight legionaries of the same century that usually shared a barrack or tent, cooking and eating together, the smallest unit of each legion. These legionaries often grew close together like family, real brothers-in-arms.

**Dominus** , pl. Domini, Domine (vocative): Master, the usual addressing for superiors of any kind, military or civil.

**Eques,** plural **Equites:** the Roman rank equivalent to 'knight'.

**Gladius** , pl. Gladii: Roman short-sword, belonging to the equipment of every Roman soldier.

**Imperator:** emperor. It was a military title for the Chief Commander of the Roman army at first and didn't have the meaning the modern word 'emperor' has. Augustus never used the title 'emperor' but 'princeps' instead, and so did Tiberius. Imperator was a part of their names, but the common meaning back then was to honor a successful military chief commander for his victories.

**Legion:** biggest independent unit of the Roman army. Each legion had a number and name and its own Aquila. Ten cohorts consisting of six centuries completed a legion, meaning that about 4800 legionaries were one legion.

**Legatus** , pl. Legati, Legate (vocative): high military rank. The legatus legionis was the commander of a legion, only Romans belonging to the aristocratic families could become high ranking officers like tribunes, legates, consuls or other high ranking officers, politicians or diplomats.

**Medicus:** pl medici. Physician, often Greeks.

**Optio:** Petty Officer, the second-in.command of a century after the centurion.

**Paludamentum:** the coat that belonged to the military clothing of the high ranking officers in the legions and which was draped around the shoulders in a special way. The ordinary legionary wore a so-called **Paenula,** a cape-like coat that was different from the coat of the officers.

**Pilum** , pl. Pila: Roman spear, used in close combat and to throw them at the enemy, a weapon with great vigor.

**Primus Pilus** : the highest ranking centurion of a Roman legion, commanding the first century of the first cohort of the legion.

**Pugio:** Roman dagger, also used as a tool and as a knife during the meals.

**Saltus Teutoburgensis:** The region between Osnabrück and Bielefeld in Lower Saxony. The Externsteine, (Extern stones), rocks and stones made of sandstone are one of the most popular touristic spots there. The Teutoburg Forest was the woody and muddy region where Arminius attacked and extinguished the Roman legions XVII, XVIII and XIX in autumn 9 AC, and where Varus committed suicide when he realized that he was lost. It's not quite clear whether or not the region known as Teutoburg Forest nowadays is actually the real place where the battles took place, as most archaeologists consider the region 'Kalkriese' near Osnabrück to be the right place, as the excavation teams found a lot of Roman found pieces, weapons and coins, and the coins were all from the years around or before the terrible defeat in 9 AC. Kalkriese could also have been a temporary camp during Varus' campaign. The Teutoburg Forest is still thickly wooded and a mysterious place, especially the Externsteine.

**Scutum** , pl. Scuta: large Roman shield, heavy and also useful as a weapon.

**Tropaeum:** Roman memorial that was built after victories to honor the god Mars and serve as a reminder of the Roman power for the defeated tribes. The origin of the word is Greek, and the English word trophy has a similar meaning. The momentum was built out of the trunk of an oak or another tree that was adorned with the weapons, armors, shields and other things the Romans collected from their enemies, standing on an artificial hill.


	2. Crash landing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Areon is fighting against Earth and Atlantis in his dart, and when he tries to open a hyperspace window close to the sun, a solar flare throws him back to the planet. Areon crashes on Earth, and even though he notices that something is strange and the surface doesn't look like it would be expected for a technological advanced population, but the crash happens before he realizes the truth...
> 
> Centurion Marcus Antonius Victorius is on patrol with his century when something fast and strange suddenly falls from the sky not far away from where he's patroling. Fearing that Arminius has built a new weapon, he decides to see what it was that fell from the sky...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun writing this first chapter of Marcus and Areon's story, I hope that it will be fun for you to read!! :-)  
> The Romans actually cursed and swore a lot, and the language in the legions was probably pretty rough. I'm not such a fan of that, but for the accuracy I decided to let Marcus and his legionaries use some curses or swear words or bad names now and then. <33

_**Prologue, Present Time:** _

Everything had gone according to plan until Atlantis had dropped out of hyperspace right next to their Hive all of a sudden, unexpectedly and without any chance for them to react in time.

The new commander had stared at the screen with an incredulous expression for several far too long seconds, and chaos had quickly ensued, reaching each level and section of the Super Hive like a blazing nuclear fire. Commands had been shouted both ways, verbally and mentally, and Areon had found himself running to the dart bay together with his brethren, folding himself into the pilot seat of the first dart that came into his sight to help his brethren fight against the city of the Ancients and the air fighters the human command from Earth had sent out to their defense.

They'd been promised new rich feeding grounds, and Areon had believed the alluring words of their new commander, allowing his conscience to be lulled and silenced by the explanations their former second and now first had offered to justify his mutiny.

_'The Commander has become weak. He's caring more about this impertinent human Sheppard than he cares about his own kin. He's proven that again when he used the retro virus on our brothers from the other Hive and sentenced them to death with this act of incredible stupidity and proof of his insanity. The galaxy how we used to know it doesn't exist any longer, and the Commander is as much responsible for that as those impudent humans from another galaxy are. Pegasus is at war, and we've been forced to fight against our own brethren because of Atlantis and the new Lanteans. It is about time that we start to fight back, where it will hit them the most - on their own home planet – Earth. We will show them that they are nothing more than just food, and that death will come to all those who dare to challenge us like they did. The modifications the Commander has made are working, and the ZPM will soon make us be invincible against every known weapons, even the weapons of the Ancients. Follow me, and you will never have to starve again!'_

Areon had followed. Believing in his own feeling of superiority that he'd been taught from the first conscious thought on, and which made him look down at the fragile creatures all humans were with the arrogance and mocking amusement of the victorious conqueror; laughing at those ridiculous weak beings which his kind had hunted for millennia without any struggles or disturbances. That's how it had always been until a new kind of humans had set foot in the sleeping city, claiming it as their new home and territory with such a natural sense of eligibility that it startled the established rulers of the Pegasus Galaxy into headless confusion, something Areon had never thought to ever be possible at all.

The Wraith had possessed the galaxy since the old Lanteans had scuttled their city deep in the ocean, and over the long course of the millennia that had passed by they'd forgotten that there had once been a time when they had not been feared or worshiped like gods, the very mentioning of their name spreading terror and desperation within entire populations and planets.

The new kind of humans that had come to Pegasus had been so outrageous not to follow the old rules and paths and fall down on their knees before the queens and every other Wraith they met instantly. With no possibility to return to their own galaxy, and endowed with a strong sense of dauntless curiosity and superiority, they'd started to make a new home for themselves in the middle of a still nameless danger with determination and grim stubbornness, a danger which they faced with their heads held up high in scornful defiance, throwing their contempt right into the faces of a race that was stronger and much more powerful in any possible way – except for their quickly fading belief in their own abilities to defeat the new enemy once and for all.

Those new humans were not the hushed and oppressed creatures the Wraith had gotten used to over the centuries, easy to deal with, easy to scare and feed upon. They were strong and self-confident, explorers and conquerors like Areon's brethren had once been, claiming loudly and with annoying persistence that they had every right to do that. They were witty and ingenious, and they were not like any other human population that had grown up in Pegasus, not the least resembling any other human race Areon had ever encountered

Therefore it had seemed to be an easy choice to make when Areon had witnessed how their old commander had made a fool of himself again and again in the ridiculous attempt to impress the leader of the new Lanteans and seek Colonel Sheppard's approval that insistently and with something akin to grim despair. Areon couldn't understand why a powerful Wraith like the commander, ten thousand years old and immortal, would want to tie himself to any weak human with such an obsession, nor did he want to understand the reasons his former superior might have for his disgraceful demeanor. He hadn't belonged to the open rebels, but he hadn't helped his once so admired former superior either, accepting the new leadership and command without any objections. He'd secretly been grateful when the old commander had made it out of the Hive with a dart though, at least that, careful to hide his relief from the officers he served with on the bridge.

Their flight to Earth had gone by much quicker than anticipated, and Areon had shared the excitement that had rocketed through the Hive mind at the sight of Earth, the planet sparkling in the blackness of space like a precious blue jewel. It promised gluttony and endless pleasures for each Wraith on board the Hive, but the exaltation had lasted only for so long. The fighters and vessels Earth had sent to meet the Wraith were nothing more than a pesky cloud of mosquitoes, but Atlantis breaking out of hyperspace right in front of the super Hive had changed their fortune and led to chaos and fear spreading out among the entire crew untenable, their new commander not having the skills and experience to bring them back under control again.

Areon, huddled in his seat and flying desperate maneuvers to get rid of the two 'mosquitoes' that were stubbornly hanging on his rear and just waiting for the next best opportunity to shoot him, asked himself in a sudden bout of humble clearance for how much longer they would continue to underestimate the humans from this galaxy – who had never experienced the horror of being just food for a superior race, and this for so long that the mortal fear and the feeling of helpless resignation it aroused was securely engraved in the genetic code of each following generation of descendants.

The modifications on the ZPM hadn't been the only ones their former commander had done, he'd also worked on some changes regarding the darts to extend their range, and Areon contemplated his options with feverish urgency. The shields of the Super Hive were still absorbing the heavy fire out of countless weapons, but Atlantis was equipped with Ancient technology, and Areon couldn't help his brethren as long as his dart was such an exposed target. He quickly made up his mind when the shot of the nearer fighter almost grazed his right side, his fingers flying over the controls in front of him. His own lucky shot miraculously hit its aim, and the fighter exploded in a burst of bright white in the same moment Areon sped up to escape the other one. The explosion blinded him for a few seconds, and he realized with surprise how close to the yellow sun he already was when his vision came back.

It was a risk to open a window to hyperspace so close to a star, but Areon had no other choice. The second fighter was shooting at him with growing fury, and the Earth mother ship was only two or three seconds away from the range of fire as well. His mind was filled with the mental screams of his dying brothers, pain, terror and death threatening to consume him and erase any coherent thought. His ears were ringing, his eyes still hurting and burning from the explosion, but he ignored the ache in his head and pressed the blinking button with a pained hiss.

The window opened right before the nose of his dart, flashing violet in the darkness and promising safety and time to recollect himself and come back to the battlefield with regained strength and determination. Areon saw the lightning of a solar flare from the corner of his watery eye in the same second he reached the window, but it was too late to react. The violet hole swallowed his dart, and his world suddenly turned upside down.

***

Areon dropped out of hyperspace in the outskirts of Earth's atmosphere, everything happening so fast that he had no time left to wonder about that, too busied with trying to avoid the inevitable crash landing for sparing any other thought on the question how it was even possible that he'd been thrown back to the planet.

The Wraith at least assumed that the surface of the planet that was coming nearer and nearer with every second that passed must belong to Earth as the hyperspace window had collapsed again in the same moment he'd entered it, and because of the fact that the next habitable planet was light years away from the star system the yearning of Areon and his brethren had focused on ever since they'd learned about its existence.

His dart was too fast and didn't react to his desperate commands, and Areon readied himself for the impact of the crash, wondering briefly whether or not the icy-cold fear that seemed to paralyze him and made everything pass by like in slow motion was the same fear humans felt when a Wraith raised their feeding hand to slam it into the poor human's chest. He was alone, so incredibly alone, the voices of his brothers in his head gone and leaving him with a terrible feeling of loss and loneliness. He could already see the different landscapes clearly, endless oceans that covered most of the surface, huge mountains with white peaks, thickly wooded green regions and yellow deserts, and he might have appreciated the beauty of this world if he hadn't been so desperate and scared to death. Something was strange though, and Areon needed a heartbeat or two to realize what it was that bothered him: the lack of any kind of technologically advanced civilization.

Areon was not a scientist, born to be a warrior and climb the ladder of command over the centuries, but he possessed a photographic memory like all Wraith and had gained enough elementary scientific knowledge in various specifications to adapt to changing circumstances and help himself if necessary. He'd seen the data the Super Hive had collected when it had come out of hyperspace above Earth, and he'd seen the evidences of civilization and advanced technology that were not to overlook. A population of more than six billions of humans left traces that were visible even from outer space, but there was nothing like that when he looked out of the transparent hatch of his dart, only green in different shades that unfolded beneath him and up to the horizon as far as his vision reached. He was already low enough to make out the trees and their canopies in detail, and he didn't have any more time to think about his unexpected discovery because his dart went down, its velocity finally slowed down when it rammed its way through the untamed wilderness of green forests.

Thick grayish fume soared from the swath of destruction he left behind, finding its way through the damaged hatch and choking him. His body shook with the dart that reared up like a trapped beast in the noose of its hunter before it buried its nose deep into the brown soil that covered the ground, and Areon was pulled forward in his seat, his torso and head hitting the damaged console with violent force. He heard his nose and one of his cheekbones crack, and his last coherent thought before everything went completely black was a desperate scream for his brethren, whatever had happened to them and wherever they might be in this hostile and unknown world.

***

_**Summer, 16 AC, Somewhere deep in Germania Magna:** _

First Centurion Marcus Antonius Victorius was on patrol with his legionaries when a large shadow darkened the sun all of a sudden, racing along the sky in a wide arc before it went down and disappeared between the tall trees with a long tail of smoke on its heels and a high pitching noise. He reined his balking mount and raised a hand to make his men stop and get their attention. Marcus was an impressive sight on the back of his vivid dappled stallion, his polished scale armor blinking in the sunlight and the panache of his helmet shining in the deep-red color of fresh blood.

“Domine, have you seen that? What was that?” his optio Rufus Stellarius asked, while his legionaries started to talk all together, looking scared and confused and shying away from the line of trees where the mysterious shadow had disappeared like a bevy of scared quails. “A sign of the gods, that must be a sign of the gods!” One of them exclaimed, while another one added in a trembling voice: “Fortuna is displeased! She warned us that we should better turn around and go back!”

“Idiot!” Marcus silenced the legionary with a stern look out of piercing eyes. His hair under the helmet was of a rich red-brown color like the hair of his father had been before it had started to turn gray, cut too short to curl over his ears, but long enough to fall into his forehead. Marcus was the image of his father, but he'd inherited the eyes of his mother, eyes of a stunningly gray color that could change from liquid silver to the dark stony gray of the stormy Mare Germanicum.

“What are you, legionary, a Roman or a coward?” he growled, and the man he'd just addressed this grimly ducked his head between his shoulders, seeking shelter behind his scutum. “A Roman, Domine,” he tried to assure his superior, but his voice was rather squeaky and trembled as he spoke.

“Very well. Our Chief Commander Germanicus is waiting for our report, and you don't want having to explain to him why you were too afraid to see what's going on among Arminius' allied tribes and what they're up to, do you? If they are testing a new kind of artillery, then we have to find that out and be prepared for that.”

“Yes, Domine, of course, Domine.” His squad hurried to agree, but their faces didn't show the eagerness of the dauntless soldiers the Roman legionaries were known and feared as, and they all raised their scuta and looked around with scared faces as if they expected a horde of screaming Teutons to jump down from the sky the very next minute.

Marcus weighed the options they had in his mind for a couple of seconds. They were just one single century and therefore too few to really stand up against a large horde of bloodthirsty Teutons, but returning to the camp without knowing what the mysterious thing falling from the sky had been was out of the question either. The young centurion guessed that his patrol was the closest one to the area where it had gone down, and he straightened his shoulders and pressed his heels into the trembling flanks of his horse. “Follow me! But be careful and watch out for the enemy. I want us to return to the camp without losing any of you, men!”

His legionaries murmured something and resumed their marching order to follow Marcus' lead, his optio Rufus Stellarius taking up his position at the end of their squad again. Marcus scanned the small gaps between the trees and bushes with sharp eyes when they reached the forest, ready to use his gladius the second he caught sight of the enemy that was surely hiding behind the thick trunks of the oaks and beeches that covered most of their homeland Germania.

Marcus Antonius Victorius was a Roman soldier with all of his heart, serving mother Rome under the shadow of the golden eagle devotedly and without any doubt for all of his adult life, but sometimes he was asking himself what they were actually doing here; and whether or not they had the right to intrude on the territories of other peoples and tribes just because they were Romans and claimed their desire to rule the entire world as their perfectly justified right - with nothing more than their Roman origin and power as the only argument. He always tried to suppress those thoughts the moment they came up of course, but some nagging doubts remained in the back of his mind, and the horrified faces of the countless people he'd killed for the fame and honor of the Roman Empire followed him into his restless dreams and haunted him at night sometimes.

Marcus wasn't sure why he had to think of that now of all times, and he pressed his lips to a thin line and orientated himself by the faint smell of burnt wood, pushing any inappropriate consideration about his orders in the farthest corner of his mind. He was Marcus Antonius Victorius, the Primus Pilus of the Legion I Germanica, and he would give his life for his men and the Roman Eagle without thinking. His legionaries were his family, his brothers-in-arms, and his legion was his home, the only home he'd known since he'd joined the Roman army at the young age of sixteen.

He was in his early thirties now and had climbed the ladder of success slowly but constantly until he'd reached the top of it and the highest rank a simple Roman citizen could reach. The post of the first centurion of a legion was one of the most honorable ones, and Marcus actually didn't need to go on patrol himself any longer, but he would miss it if he had to stay in the camp, and Caecina was not the man to restrict his officers if they wanted to be a role model for their legionaries and take the lead in the first row.

Marcus could be sure of the admiration and devotion of his centuries, and his men would follow him through Hades and back if necessary, opposite to all the young and arrogant tribunes from the noble families who didn't know how to win the respect and the unquestioning loyalty of their underlings.

They were all actually searching for the Tropaeum Germanicus' deceased father Drusus had built twenty-five years ago, in order to honor the great commander Drusus had been, and to pray there for the blessings of Jupiter, Mars and Fortuna. Germanicus' legions were searching for this memorial for a couple of days by now, and Marcus thought it to be likely that the Teutons had already damaged it years ago, shortly after Drusus and his army had left, taking most of the weapons, armors and shields away to bring them to their own villages for further use, so it was no wonder that they hadn't found any traces of the Tropaeum so far. Finding the trunk of an oak among countless other trees was like searching for a needle in a huge haystack, but Germanicus had been very clear about his wish to honor his deceased father and rebuilt his memorial, and his staff officers knew better than to annoy the nephew and designated heir of their princeps Tiberius.

It would be a honor to be the one finding the old monument with his century, but checking the mysterious weapon and destroying it before it could kill any Roman legionary was far more important. It could only be some kind of artillery the Teutons wanted to use against the hated Roman legions, something Arminius' wicked mind had come up with as he certainly still remembered the vigor of Roman artilleries from the time when he'd still pretended to be loyal to the empire he owed so much.

“Over there, Domine!” his friend and optio suddenly exclaimed, trying to keep his voice quiet enough not to draw the attention of the enemy who must be lurking somewhere between the trees. Marcus pulled at the reins of his stallion, and his mount snorted and stomped his hooves, unwilling to follow the small path of burnt leaves and branches the unknown weapon had carved into the forest. The young centurion patted his neck and clicked his tongue, and his faithful friend snorted again but obeyed and strode forward with a long line of rather unwilling legionaries trailing behind their superior officer.

Half a mile later they reached their goal, a jagged clearing that most likely hadn't been there two hours ago. The thick bushes and tall trees had fallen like ninepins under the violent force of the weapon, their snapped stumps looking like the misshapen creatures that served Pluto in the underworld Hades. Marcus suppressed the cold shiver that was suddenly running down on his back despite the warmth and the heavy weight of his chestplate, observing the terrible magnitude of destruction the new Germanic weapon had caused. Marcus had never seen anything of this kind beforehand, and it was the same for his century, the legionaries staring around, speechless and with frightened expressions on their faces.

The clearing narrowed to another short path at the other end, opposite to where Marcus was trying to keep his balking mount under control when the stench of burnt wood penetrated its nose, and Marcus cleared his throat and pointed at unscathed trees that lined the area of destruction. “Build a circle and secure the area. Rufus, you're in charge until I'll come back and you'll have to see to my horse. I want to check the path over there together with ten soldiers, the weapon must have gone down rather close to this clearing. This way we won't draw too much attention and can creep up on without being noticed by Arminius' warriors.” His optio looked as if he wanted to object, but only nodded his head when he caught Marcus' stern look.

“Yes, Domine.” He gestured at the legionaries until they had built a circle to guard the clearing with their raised scuta serving as a protecting wall, and Marcus let out a content rumble and dismounted his stallion in the midst of the circle. “You're my good boy, Fulgur,” he murmured, rubbing the velvety nose tenderly before he handed the reins over to Rufus and waved at the ten legionaries his optio had chosen to accompany him. “Let's go and see where this path is ending,” he said, and his men swallowed audibly, but nodded their heads and followed him into the wilderness, their cleated caligae making cracking noises on the broken twigs and branches the only sounds in the otherwise deadly silence.

***

Their walk was short and ended a couple of hundred meters away from the clearing. Something that looked like a huge monstrous fish or whale lay on another serrated area, stopped abruptly by a tall oak that was as thick as three men. The thing was halfway covered with more broken twigs and branches, and Marcus' legionaries gasped out in fear and shock, some of them starting to murmur frantic prayers to all gods they remembered.

Marcus had never seen anything like this, but the wild forests of Germania were still unknown and mysterious territories, and only the gods knew what kind of creatures lived under the canopies of the trees that were sacred plants for the various Germanic tribes. Stories about giants and terribly looking beasts that resided and ruled in the vastness of the seemingly endless forests were told in the taverns of Ara Ubiorum, the city near the camp where Marcus' legion was usually stationed. Marcus had never given credence to them, but now he had to reconsider his beliefs as it would seem, and he unconsciously grabbed the handle of his own scutum tighter.

The beast – or whatever it was – looked dead at first sight, but Marcus pulled his gladius out of its sheath as he cautiously crept closer to the 'thing', while his men just stood there like frozen in place until their centurion hissed at them through gritted teeth that they should better behave like grown-up men and not like scared young children that were watching a caged bear in the arena for the first time.

“Keep watch for the gods' sake! The barbarians will surely come looking for their missing weapon soon!”

“Yes, Domine, of course, Domine!” The legionaries Rufus had chosen to be his guards were the bravest of the first century of the first cohort that Marcus commanded, and Marcus knew all of them by heart.

“Tatius, Secundus, come to me!” he ordered two of them to step beside him, “Rogelius, Decimus, stand guard at each side of this thing together with the others!”

Gaius Tatius and Titus Secundus obeyed Marcus' order with apparent reluctance, eyeing the lifeless creature in front of them as if they feared that it would raise its head and snap at them at any second. Aulus Rogelius and Lucius Decimus on the other hand looked grateful that they hadn't been chosen to examine the monster that was truly tremendous to look at more closely together with their centurion.

Marcus swallowed down his own fear and steeled himself as he protected himself with his scutum and pushed the gladius forward to stab the beast into its flank, watched by his scared legionaries, all of them looking as if they were close to pissing themselves out of fear sooner rather than later.

The first centurion of the proud Legion I Germanica wasn't sure what he had expected to happen, but surely not that the beast had a skin as hard and unyielding as iron, because his gladius couldn't even really scratch the surface. He took a step back because he feared that it would raise its huge snout the very next moment and open it to swallow him down, but nothing happened, and after a moment or two Marcus dared to reach out and pull the branches away that were covering the head of the beast and blocking his sight. Tatius and Secundus' hot breaths tickled his neck, but he didn't chide them, as he was feeling the same fear they were going through. One of them, probably Tatius, let out a cry of surprise, and Marcus followed his trembling finger when the legionary pointed at something Marcus had just revealed when he'd freed the creature from the broken twigs and leaves.

The head of the monster was transparent, as though its skull was made of some kind of glass, and right in the middle of it – where Marcus would have anticipated to see cerebral matter or perhaps other monstrous organs – was lying something or someone human-like, silent and motionless.

It was probably one of the barbaric Teutons, and whether he was dead or just unconscious, that was hard to tell from this position, but a human being trapped in the translucent skull of a giant beast was definitely not what Marcus and his soldiers had expected to find at all.


	3. Unanswered questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus and his legionaries have found something that seems to be a new weapon Arminius has been able to build, and now they're trying to free the Teuton trapped in this machine and bring him back to the camp to question him.  
> Areon wakes up and finds himself trapped in the embrace of a human, a human who doesn't seem to fear him, a situation totally new and scary to him..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was already finished, so I decided to post it today as well. The first (more or less) interaction between Marcus and Areon...  
> I also edited the first chapter and included more information. :-)

“Domine, please watch out!” Tatius cried out, “don't wake it up, it's such a huge monster, it will have us as its dinner!” The young legionary standing beside him was shaking with utter horror, and as strange as it might be, but the shudders of fear wrecking his frightened soldiers helped Marcus to become calm again and clear his own mind, and his own trembling stopped almost instantly.

“Don't be stupid, son of a donkey!” he growled, piercing Tatius with his eyes, “and be quiet for Jupiter's sake! Do you really want to give us away to the enemy with your loud wailing?”

“But, but... this monster... Just look at it, Domine! It has already eaten one of its own masters! It's sleeping, sated for now, but it will surely wake up soon and kill all of us!” came Secundus to his friend's help, his voice high-pitched with mortal fear. Marcus shook his head with a sigh and leaned his scutum against the damaged side of the thing – whatever it actually was, Marcus still couldn't tell.

One thing he was damn sure of after his first initial shock and fright though: that this thing wasn't a living and breathing monster or another mysterious and supernatural beast, but some kind of strange weapon or machine Arminius and his barbarians had built to kill as many brave Romans as possible. Whether they'd had the help of their gods or built this on their own he couldn't know at this point, but the young centurion was determined to find that out. If Arminius was capable of building something dangerous like that, then Germanicus needed to know that and find a way to destroy these weapons before they could become a serious threat to his legions. Bringing the warrior they'd just found to their camp to interrogate him and get the information they needed – if he was still alive – was the quickest way to gain more knowledge and be one step ahead of Arminius, and Marcus made an impatient gesture because his legionaries were standing there like frozen in place and gaping at the motionless Teuton as if he was the hell hound Cerberus in life and color.

“Help me getting him out of his shell, and fast!” he ordered Tatius and Secundus, waving at Rogelius to get the pilum the legionary was clinging to with trembling hands. “This is not a beast, but a machine or some kind of weapon, and if we're lucky, then the Teuton lying in there is still alive and can be questioned when he wakes up again. Come on, don't stand around there just gawking like that!”

Rogelius almost tripped over his own feet when he handed his pilum to his superior with visible reluctance, shooting scared glances at the motionless and quiet thing he apparently still thought to be a terrible monster that would wake up and swallow him down in the very next second.

Marcus ignored him as he took the spear to open the glass-like dome of the unknown machine. He could see the severe destruction the crash had inflicted on the weapon that looked a bit like the giant tip of a pilum - now that he was able to think straight again instead of letting his fear and superstition get the better out of him. The iron-like surface was damaged and burnt on several places, and the transparent dome was battered, countless cracks forming weird patterns that resembled the spiderwebs Marcus had always found fascinating and beautiful.

The Teuton lay face-down in his seat, his torso and arms sprawled out over something that looked like knobs or handles, probably the operators that activated the weapon or the machine. The catapult it had been shot from must be huge, Marcus mused briefly, because the mere thought that it was capable of flying on its own was too ridiculous and unbelievable to think it to the end.

The Teuton warrior wore black clothes made of a material that looked like leather to the young centurion, and his long hair was covering his face and his shoulders and back. It was of an astonishing silver-white color Marcus had never seen beforehand, oddly beautiful and appealing to him. He knew that a lot of Teutons and Celts had blond hair, but white hair usually belonged to old people, not to young fighters, and not even Arminius would be so crazy to let an old man operate his precious new artillery, right? He frowned, contemplating the fastest and easiest way to break the dome open for a moment. They were running out of time, it wouldn't take long until this place would be overrun with their enemy, and he turned his head to glare at his legionaries and make them get a move on.

“Do you want to just stay here and gape like stranded fishes, or do you want to help me, you lazy boozers? Don't think that I didn't hear you quaffing and swaggering last night!” he snarled, and Tatius and Secundus' cheeks flushed red in their snow-white faces. “No, Domine, uhm, of course, Domine...” they stammered, watching Marcus bracing his pilum against the transparent dome. They grabbed their own pila and did the same, bringing the iron tips up to the brim of the dome like Marcus, right where it lined up with the dark base of the dart-like weapon.

“One, two, three, and up!” Marcus counted, pushing against the shaft of his pilum with the full weight of his armed body. The dome resisted their first attempt to open it, but Marcus could see more ruptures crawling over the glass up to the top with crackling noises.

“Again! One, two, three, and up!” His face was probably as red as the faces of his two helpers, but their efforts were rewarded, because the dome finally gave in to their united forces, the glass breaking into hundreds of large and small shards that rained down on the motionless Teuton.

The labored breathing of ten frightened Roman legionaries were ringing unnaturally loud in Marcus' ears when he cautiously pulled at the right shoulder of the silver-haired warrior, ready to use his pilum without any hesitation if the other one so much as only moved his little finger.

“What the hell... by Jupiter and all gods, what's that?”

Marcus stared at the Teuton, his spinning mind trying to process what his eyes were seeing. He'd seen a lot of weird things in his life, and he'd stood face to face and eye to eye with a lot of allied and hostile Teutons over the years, but none of them had looked like this one in any way.

The unknown warrior was definitely not an old man, but Marcus couldn't judge his age as his features were far too alien for that. For a brief moment he wasn't even sure whether he was really looking at the face of a man or a woman, but the Teuton's torso was flat under the black jacket, and a small silver-white goatee was adorning his chin, so he must be male.

His skin was of a pale-gray color with a bluish undertone, and Marcus' soldiers stepped back when they saw the odd color of the Teuton's skin too, apparently fearing to catch the bad disease the warrior must obviously suffer from, because no healthy young man could have such a weird skin-color. His thin lips were gray too, and Marcus really hoped that this didn't mean that he was dead, because they needed to interrogate him about this new weapon Arminius possessed, and this wasn't possible when their prisoner hadn't survived the crash. His eyes were closed, and he had apparently shaved his brows, because he possessed hairless prominent ridges instead of the usual hairy eyebrows. Either that, or it was perhaps a mutation that could happen when closely related people had children, even though Marcus had to admit that this mutation looked somewhat appealing to him in its strangeness like his silver-white hair, too.

The oddest things in his face were surely the small slits beside the warrior's surprisingly elegant nose, but maybe it was a sign of bravery - or a special Teuton feature of beauty - to have one's cheeks cut beside the nose like that. Marcus had surely seen weirder things than that, even though he couldn't remember when and where at the moment, and he heaved a relieved sigh when he saw the slits flaring ever so slightly in the slow rhythm of the Teuton's shallow breaths. His nostrils were moving in sync with the slits, and Marcus let out a noise of contentment.

“He looks like one of the warriors they call Berserker. You know, those who paint their faces and bodies to appear scary and like supernatural ghosts rather than normal human beings,” he said to calm his men down – and himself as well. Marcus smiled grimly and jerked his head. “It's not important at the moment, though, all that counts is that he's alive and hopefully able to give us the information we need when he wakes up again. Alright men, let's bring him back to the camp where we can question him! We're too few to carry this machine as well, but maybe we can come back here later and bring it to the camp as well. We'll need a carriage for that. It's too damaged for Arminius to use it against us anyway, so he might perhaps leave it here in the wilderness instead of trying to get it back. My gut feelings are telling me that we should better not waste any more time, I can hear his warriors coming closer, so come on, hurry up, guys, help me getting him out of his seat!”

His legionaries didn't need to be told that twice this time, and Tatius and Secundus groaned under the heavy weight of the unconscious Teuton. He was much heavier than he looked like and heavier than Marcus had thought him to be, and they were all sweating like pigs by the time they'd pulled him out of his turret. Secundus and Tatius lifted him over their shoulders, and Marcus stepped beside them to help them carry their precious cargo as he feared that he would suffer from more injuries if they weren't careful enough with him. He couldn't see any bleeding wounds except for some scratches and bruises on his grayish skin, but Marcus knew all too well that the life-threatening wounds and injuries were the ones inside a body you couldn't see on the outside.

“Have you seen his looks? What if he's one of their gods, perhaps even Donar himself? What if Donar himself has descended from their godly heaven to help their human worshipers? He will kill us and take revenge when he wakes up again! Just look at him, he can't be human!” Marcus could hear Rogelius whisper to Decimus, and he turned his head to suppress such superstitious rumors right before they could grow and bloom further.

“He's surely not a god, he's human like we are! Would a god crash with his weapon or godly machine and fall unconscious? Or do you really believe that he wouldn't have avoided his crash at all costs if he actually possessed godly powers? Surely not. He must be one of the Berserkers like I already told you.” His mocking question silenced the legionaries, but they were still looking doubtful and afraid, trudging through the soil and the thick layer of branches and leaves back to their century. Their way back seemed to be longer than Marcus remembered the distance, but finally they reached the clearing where Rufus and his men were waiting for them, gasps and strangled cries sounding when his soldiers caught sight of the unconscious Teuton on Secundus and Tatius' shoulders.

“There's no time for any further explanations,” the waiting legionaries found their questions nipped in the bud right away, and they grumbled in protest, but they were all too happy and relieved that they were allowed leave the eerie place deep in the forests again to object when Marcus ordered them to lift the Teuton up into the saddle of his stallion before him after he'd mounted his horse. “He's too heavy to carry him all the way back, and you need to be able to protect yourself – and us,” he said, and leaned back to make room for his optio when Rufus tied the Teuton's hands behind his back.

“He has injured his right hand,” his optio said, “it's not bleeding anymore, but we need to take a look at it in the camp. It's strange though that he doesn't have any other visible wounds.” His optio and friend sounded surprised, and Marcus nodded, because he'd already noticed the lack of any visible severe injuries as well, but this was something they needed to procrastinate until they were back in the camp. Their prisoner was still unconscious, but he was breathing steadily, and Marcus took that as a good sign that he would still be alive when they reached the camp and could see to his injuries and make sure that he could give them some answers. “Keep that in mind, we need to hurry, Rufus,” he said, pulling gently at the Teuton to secure him in the saddle before him. Then he wrapped his left arm tightly around the leather-clad waist of the warrior and took the reins with his right hand.

“Let's bring him to Germanicus to inform him about Arminius' new weapon, brothers!” he said, and his century nodded their heads and formed two lines around him to escort their centurion and their prisoner back to the camp where their adored imperator was waiting for news, the rhythmical pounding of eighty pairs of cleated caligae announcing their return long before the guards patrolling on the wall walk could see their silhouettes becoming taller and taller before the horizon.

***

Pain.

Areon slowly regained consciousness, and the searing pain filling every single cell of his battered and bruised body was all-consuming and threatened to pull him back into the darkness of another coma.

The pain was worse than anything he'd ever experienced, but the worst thing was that he was alone in his head, the usually calming murmur of his brethren always filling his mind and soothing him completely gone, and there was only silence when he tried to reach out for them despite his terrible headache. He couldn't move because of the pain, and he was vaguely aware that only the fact that he'd fed shortly before they had left the Pegasus Galaxy had saved him from dying from his severe injuries. His body had already started to heal itself while he'd been out cold, broken bones snapping back into place and his internal wounds closing, but the healing process went along with the almost unbearable pain, and Areon would have to feed soon again if he didn't want to die of starvation instead of his injuries.

He felt sick and dizzy from the concussion he'd suffered when his dart had gone down between the trees, and it took him a moment to realize that the steady rocking back and forth he'd thought to be a side-effect of his concussion was actually real, and that he was sitting on something that caused the rocking, probably a transporter or something like that. The overwhelming smell of animal and humans filled his nose when he was conscious enough to finally notice it, and he was leaning against something that was hard and unyielding but radiated the warmth of another living being, so it was probably the armored body of one of his unknown captors. His hands were tied behind his back and rubbing against the chestplate that was made of countless small scale-like metal plates. That his hands were bound didn't really surprise him, he would have done the same if he were human and had captured a Wraith. The ropes wouldn't restrain him under normal circumstances, but at the moment he was too weak to merely think of getting rid of them.

Now he also became aware of the strong arm wrapped around his midsection to keep him trapped and securely in place, the smell of bare sun-kissed human skin and fresh sweat making his mouth water with a wave of raw hunger.

Areon willed himself not to flinch and give away that he was already awake. He was still far too weak to fight against those who'd found him, and even though everything inside him screamed to turn around and slam his hand into the human's chest to quench his hunger, but their chestplate was an obstacle that would hinder him from doing that for long enough to give his captors time to react and attack him.

The Wraith felt scared and confused like never before, but he was still reasonable enough not to let his fear consume him and so he considered his options to distract himself from his fear. Gaining more information about the people who'd freed him from his dart was crucial for his next decisions, and he kept his eyes closed and focused on the quiet murmur of the human he was leaned against. Judging by their male scent, the shape of their torso under the metal armor and the strong muscular arm slung around him they were most likely a human man, a soldier or another kind of warrior or guard. Areon recognized other fighters when he encountered them in any way, and as strange as it was, but the fact that he was held close by someone who shared or at least understood his mindset was somewhat consoling.

Warm breath ghosted over his bent forward neck, and the quiet murmur of a low and beautiful male voice tickled at his cheek. The neck of any Wraith was one of their most vulnerable parts of their bodies, and Areon was well aware that the human holding him so close could kill him easily if he put his mind to it, one deep stab of a sharp knife would do the job. That his captor and guard hadn't done that so far was a strong indication that he – or his warden's superiors – knew who he was and wanted to question him about the Super Hive and his brethren.

Not that Areon could tell them anything, he didn't know what had happened to his Hive and his brothers, but it would hopefully give him the chance to escape and return to them – if they had survived the battle, that is. He strained his ears to catch some of the words the human pressing him so close was whispering, and a soft flutter tingled in his chest when another wave of delicious smell filled his nose. The man holding him must be young and in perfect shape, and he smelled so enticing, much better and much more irresistible than any other human had ever smelled to Areon. It was most likely just because of his hunger, his despair and his injuries, but Areon couldn't remember any other human ever having smelled as strong and powerful as this one, and for a moment he lost himself in the sensations overwhelming him and making him forget his pain and his fear.

The words sounded guttural and didn't resemble any language Areon knew, but after a while his guard changed to another language, still rather strange, but familiar enough to recognize it as some kind of dialect of the language of the Ancients. Areon hadn't expected his warden to speak the old language, this was something totally unexpected. Areon's own language was a derivative of the language of the Ancients as well, and he could speak, understand and read the old language as fluently as his own mother tongue – like all of his brothers. He'd never encountered one of the new Lanteans himself, but he knew from the data his brethren had collected over the years that most of them were speaking a language they called 'English', and that this language had only little to do with the old language of the first Lanteans. Was this surprising turnout a sign of their willingness to treat him with respect and as the superior conqueror he was? Or was it more their attempt to lull him into false security?

Areon had a hard time not giving away that he was awake and listening attentively to what the soldier sitting behind him on the back of their living transporter, and he unconsciously held his breath when he was finally able to put some sense into the man's softly murmured speech.

“Still playing the unconscious, aren't you? Don't think that you can fool me. I know that you're awake and that you can hear me, Teuton. Probably not understand what I'm telling you, but you're listening, I can feel that. I'd be curious to know which tribe you belong to. Cherusci? Chatti? Marsii? I'd say Usipii if I had to guess. You'll better be cooperative and tell us what you know – with your hands and feet if necessary, but don't think that you can tell me lies, I know your language well enough to know it if you try to deceive me. It's a real pity that you barbarians are not clever enough to learn the language of your rightful domini. It would make everything easier. I hope that your arrogant leader Arminius, this traitorous bastard, hasn't forgotten how to communicate properly when we're proving to him that his new weapon is useless and nothing a true Roman will ever have to fear. But don't worry, Teuton, I've lived here long enough to learn your weird language and make myself be understood, and I don't need an interpreter to make sure that you'll know the consequences if you don't tell us what we want to know. Arminius won't get the chance to kill any more Romans, not as long as I'm still alive. Oh yes, just pretend to be still asleep, our Imperator Germanicus will find a way to loosen your tongue quickly, don't you doubt that.”

Areon had no bloody clue what the man was talking about, nor who 'Imperator Germanicus' was. Their new commander had informed the entire crew about the government of the biggest and most important states of Earth, and the president of the United States answered to the name Henry Hayes as far as Areon still remembered. Arminius? Germanicus? These names didn't ring any bell in Areon's memory, and the names didn't sound English either, but actually more like names the old Lanteans would have chosen. He had to give his warden some credit though, that he'd noticed his waking up proved to the Wraith that his kidnapper was well-trained and had sharp senses, so Areon would better not underestimate him and his team members like so many Wraith had underestimated the humans from this planet for far too long.

But what was a Teuton for heaven's sake? Or a Roman? What did this man mean when he talked about Chatti, Cherusci, Marsii or Usipii? Nothing of what he'd said made any sense to Areon. The headache that had eased when Areon's healing powers had healed the concussion and the swelling of his brain where he'd hit it on the console of his dart came back with full force as he tried to decipher the cryptic words of his warden.

Their rightful domini? Not even Sheppard had ever been so bold to say that he and his new Lanteans wanted to be the rulers of the Pegasus Galaxy. No human would ever be the master of any Wraith, so how could this impertinent creature dare telling him that he was his rightful master or owner? Areon wanted to howl and slam his feeding hand into his chest to teach him his place for once and all, and he was about to jerk in the tight grip and try to turn around when the soft chuckle the impudent human let out made him freeze in place. It was a surprisingly beautiful sound, soft and warm, and nothing could have proven better to Areon that this human didn't feel any fear in the presence of a Wraith. Even Sheppard and his teams had always been scared when they had encountered Areon's race on the different worlds they had visited in the small galaxy they had claimed to be their new territory, and if not scared, then at least cautious.

But the human holding him close didn't smell of fear or distress, he smelled of physical exertion and sweat, but his entire posture, the way he'd slung his arm around Areon's waist and was pressing him against his own body so tightly, only spoke of self-confidence, power and victory, so he apparently didn't consider the Wraith to be a threat any longer.

Areon choked on his next breath when he realized what the behavior and the soft but truly amused and mocking laughter of the man holding him in his arm without any fear actually meant. Earth and Atlantis must have been able to destroy the Super Hive and kill all of his brethren. He was alone and at the complete mercy of his catchers. They would do their cruel experiments on him and starve him to death, slowly and cruelly, they would laugh at him and enjoy his pain and fear.

There was no reason for him to live anymore, no reason to fight. The pain he'd forgotten for a while, distracted by the alluring call of food within his reach in such abundance and the overwhelming presence of such a strong and powerful specimen of the human races that lived in this big and unknown galaxy, came back with full force and made him tense up in the arms of his kidnapper.

The rocking of the animal beneath him let waves of dizziness course through him and clouded his mind with nausea, and Areon stopped fighting against them and succumbed almost gratefully to another blackness that swallowed him and erased any other coherent thought for a rather long time.


	4. Return to the camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus and his century return to the camp with their prisoner, and Marcus goes to Germanicus' tent to inform him about the weapon and their Teuton captive. As always, the Praetorian guards keeping watch before the tent turn out to be the arrogant nuisances they always seem to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is focusing on Marcus and the dynamic and order of Roman legions like it could have been back then. The Praetorian guards were elite units and the personal guards of the princeps and the chief commanders, and it is likely that they looked down on the 'ordinary' legionaries and officers they considered to be below them.  
> The Praetorian guards were often not as experienced as the soldiers serving in the legions though, and their relationship to them was surely one of jealousy, envy and mistrust going both ways.  
> As this story is about a Wraith finding out that Hive-mind' and the way of life as he knows it is not something unique only his race knows, I wanted to explore the dynamic of Roman legions in this chapter.  
> The next one will finally contain interaction between Marcus and Areon, but I hope that this one will yet be not too boring and enjoyable to read. <33
> 
> I also updated chapter 1 with more explanations of the Latin words I used here.

Their march back to the camp went by without any other incident, and Marcus heaved a relieved sigh when they finally reached the wooden gate that was guarded by four grimly looking soldiers of their auxilia. They stared at the captive hanging unconsciously in his arm with barely hidden curiosity, and Marcus needed to growl at them to make them step aside and open the gate for his century.

“Open the gate, you poor parodies of true soldiers!” he snarled, wondering briefly why they seemed to be so surprised at the sight of his prisoner. Most of the soldiers serving in the auxilia that belonged to the legions under Germanicus' command were either Gauls or Teutons themselves; and Marcus would have thought that the looks of his captive must be familiar to them, but their expressions were similar to the shock and fright Marcus had seen on the faces of his own Roman legionaries. He needed to stall this important perception until later though, seeing to the Teuton's injuries and talking to Germanicus was his most pressing concern right now.

“Yes, Domine.” The four guards swallowed and made way for him and his men, the wooden portals swinging open to let his century pass. Marcus ignored the guards that were still gaping at his captive and pressed his heels into Fulgur's flanks, leading his stallion in the direction where his tent was located. His legionaries followed with proudly lifted chins, their own fear and exhaustion momentarily forgotten as they bathed in the attention of their brothers-in-arms from the other centuries and cohorts. Marcus kept his gaze on the path in front of him and ignored the shouts and questions thrown in their way, coming to a halt when his tent came into sight with another furtive sigh of relief.

“Tatius, Secundus, bring our captive into my tent. Optio Stellarius, go getting a medicus! Tell him that he needs to come here instantly!” Marcus gave his orders, and his friend and faithful right hand Rufus nodded his head and pushed through the crowd that had gathered around their century to see what was going on.

“Let me pass, you sons of a donkey! You heard what your centurion has said! Let me pass for Jupiter's sake, or I will make you get a move on!” His optio growled at the legionaries when they didn't move to the side quickly enough, and Marcus suppressed a smile and focused on his precious cargo again. Rufus wouldn't rest until he'd found the best medicus of the entire camp, and bring him to Marcus' tent without any further delay like he carried out all of Marcus' orders with the determination of a pack of hungry wolves that was following the traces of a wounded stag.

Secundus and Tatius stepped beside his mount and lifted their arms up, and Marcus let the Teuton glide down into their arms carefully and slowly in order not to cause any further damage. “Be careful, we didn't bring him here to let him die. I know that you all would love to cut his throat, but we need the information only he can give us, so don't even think of taking revenge on him for your fallen friends and brothers until he's told us everything he knows about Arminius and this new weapon, understood?!”

The soldiers of his century looked unhappy and displeased, but they nodded their agreement, with visible reluctance, but they did, and Marcus knew that he wouldn't need to worry about one of them losing his temper and killing their helpless prisoner in his coma. He wasn't so sure about the legionaries of the other centuries and cohorts though, as there wasn't any Roman serving in the legions of the Rhine army who hadn't lost someone he loved or cared about because of Arminius and his barbarians.

He jumped down from his horse and stroked over Fulgur's nostrils tenderly. His faithful friend snorted and pushed his nose against Marcus' hand, licking the salty sweat from his palm with his rough tongue. “Yes, you're my good boy,” Marcus murmured into his twitching gray-white ear, patting his damp neck and rubbing his mane. He waved at Fabricius, one of the legionaries who belonged to the same contubernium as Tatius, Secundus and Rogelius.

“Fabricius, see to my horse. Fulgur has earned himself a generous extra portion of oat, and I don't give a damn about what the equerry says, understood? You can tell him that I'll have words with him if he so much as only thinks of objecting – and that our chief commander will learn about his misbehavior if he does.”

“Yes, Domine.” Fabricius looked proud, being allowed to take care of Marcus' beloved stallion was a great honor, and it also spared him from having to guard their scary prisoner as long as Marcus wasn't there to keep the other legionaries in check and in safe distance from the injured Teuton himself. Fabricius took the reins from his centurion and guided Fulgur to the stables on the other side of their temporary camp, and Marcus pushed the curtain that covered the entrance to his tent to the side to let Secundus and Tatius carry their captive inside.

“Rogelius, you and the rest of your contubernium will guard him here in my tent until I'm back. Lay him onto my bed and make sure that his injuries will be treated and that he'll stay alive and can recover enough that we can interrogate him. I need to see Germanicus and talk to him, and I don't want to find our prisoner dead after my return. Six more men shall keep watch outside my tent as well, just in case.”

“Yes, Domine, we will protect him with our lives,” Rogelius said, and Marcus smiled at him. He cared deeply about every single legionary serving under his command, and especially about those who served in the first century of the first cohort, but Rogelius' contubernium was the one closest to his heart, and he knew that it was the same for these incredible brave fighters. They'd fought together back to back so many times, covered in dirt and blood, saving each other's lives more often than Marcus could even count, and he would die for every single one of them without even blinking. They would do the same for him, and they'd followed him through Hades and back a thousand times over the past years. Marcus still remembered how he and Rogelius' contubernium had saved Legatus Caecina's life last autumn, when Arminius had almost achieved to destroy and extinguish another four legions with his army of savage Teutons, and there was nobody else in this world he trusted more than his optio Rufus Stellarius and Rogelius' contubernium.

“Yes, I know that, soldier. That's why I chose you for this important task. I know that you won't disappoint me, Rogelius. I'll be back as soon as possible.” He shot one last glance at their captive, and the unexpected wave of sympathy tightening his throat all of a sudden made him swallow and frown in irritation of himself. The Teuton might be severely injured and alone among his lethal enemies, but he'd killed Romans, Marcus' brothers, and he didn't deserve any pity, sympathy or consideration. Marcus' orders to see to his well-being were born out of the necessity to get information from him and learn more about the threat Arminius' new weapon was for them, not out of any feeling of sympathy or anything like that. Marcus couldn't allow himself to have such feelings, as they would only weaken his resolve to do everything within his powers to keep his men safe and lead them to victory against the traitor Rome had fed on her breast for so long. The life of one of the traitorous barbarians who'd shed Roman blood wasn't worth a single thought, and the dark-haired centurion tore his eyes away from the enemy lying still and motionless on his bed with an abrupt motion, leaving his tent and making his way to the center of the camp with an impassive face and fast, angry steps.

Germanicus needed to be informed about what he'd found in the thick forests instantly, everything else could wait.

***

The two Praetorian guards eyed him with a mixture of mistrust, boredom, unwilling attention and envy when he stood before the entrance of the huge tent of their adored chief commander at last, but the primus pilus of the Legion I should be well-known even among the usually pretty arrogant Praetorians, his reputation preceding Marcus everywhere he went, and so he planted himself in front of the two young Romans with his hands on his hips and the same arrogant expression on his face they were showing.

“I have important news, and I need to talk to Imperator Germanicus immediately,” Marcus said, staring back at the two guards without blinking. “Tell him that Centurion Victorius has significant information that cannot wait.”

“What kind of information? The imperator is busied and has no time for the rambling of a low ranking officer who wants to shove his weight around so he can pride himself that he's gotten a minute of the Chief Commander's attention. You'll either tell us what's soooo important that it can't wait or crawl back into your corner of the kitchen tent, _Centurion Victorious,_ ” The left guard asked with the annoying sense of superiority every damn Praetorian displayed whenever they had to deal with what they considered to be ordinary soldiers, emphasizing Marcus' rank and name in a sarcastic tone.

Marcus had faced such situations often enough not to let the arrogant upstart rile him up, thinking that he would always choose the legionaries of his century over an entire cohort of Praetorians to cover his back, and his lips peeled back from his teeth in a dangerous grin. “As if I'd tell you of all people such a secret information, son of a goat milker that you are. Germanicus knows me, he's talked to me more often than you will ever be allowed to even lick his calcei. I'm sure that he will agree with me that digging latrine trenches will be a suitable task for you arrogant arses for the rest of our campaign if you keep gaping at me like that instead of doing your DAMN JOB! NOW!”

Marcus had raised his voice at the end of his sentence, not much, but enough to make both guards flinch. The Praetorian standing at the left side of the entrance was still trying his luck and Marcus' patience, his features grimacing in displeasure as he blocked Marcus' way, but the right guard swallowed and ducked his head between his shoulders, the prospect of being degraded to such a disgraceful task for the foreseeable future making him bow his head before Marcus and sending his legs into motion at last.

“Ah, at least one of you has been gifted with more brain cells than a pig has, there's hope left for you after all. I'll spare you the latrine fatigue if you'll prove to me that you actually know how to use your brain, soldier!”

“Yes, Domine. Please wait here, I shall hurry,” he murmured, while his fellow guard lifted his chin up and grabbed the handle of his gladius tighter, not willing to back away and admit his grave mistake in a stupid bout of childish defiance. “You will wait here, Centurion, there have other assassins tried to kill our imperator in his own tent!” he snarled, “your armor, tunic and helmet is no proof that you're speaking the truth and actually are who you claim to be.”

“I have no intention to go anywhere until your friend comes back, don't worry.” Marcus gave back with an engaging smile that showed his white teeth again. He adopted a comfortable and relaxed posture, bracing his slightly spread legs against the hard-packed soil and crossing his arms before his armored chest, the golden armillae enclosing his wrists sparkling in the bright sunlight until the poor man's eyes started to water from being blinded by their glow.

Marcus actually didn't care much about jewelry, but the bracelets belonged to him like his limbs and his armor, and Germanicus himself had put them around his arms when he'd promoted him to the first centurion of the legion he served with every fiber of his being, the reason why Marcus hardly ever took them off. Apart from the essential meaning these armillae had for him, they also protected the tender and vulnerable skin over his arteries, and Marcus had seen enough brave men bleeding out when the tip of a sword or a spear had cut their wrists to value the golden evidence of his courage as a life-saving part of his armor.

At the moment they also served to have an unintentional but very welcome side-effect, and Marcus was self-critical enough to chide himself silently for enjoying the poor guard's discomfort so much. The Praetorian was still more a boy than a real man, and that he had to keep watch outside the tent was a clear indication that he didn't belong to Germanicus' personal Praetorian bodyguards for a long time and still had to earn his merits. He was just doing his job and tried to protect their adored imperator, and Marcus would have felt understanding for his difficult task to decide which of the countless visitors had a valid reason to see the chief commander and who had not - if his news hadn't been as important and urgent as it actually was.

He settled his eyes on the remaining Praetorian, fixing him with a silent stare to wait for the return of his companion. The unfortunate recipient of his undivided attention started to shift from one foot to the other after a couple of minutes, not daring to wipe away the salty tears that were running over his face because of the bracelets on Marcus' arms that blinded him so much. The Praetorian looked back, blinking rapidly against the wetness in his eyes, not daring to let go of his scutum and his gladius to be prepared for any sudden attack that might come, and his lips twitched in despair when he gritted his teeth to keep his suddenly overwhelming urge to relieve his full bladder right where he stood at bay.

Marcus resisted the temptation to comment on the dire straits the younger Roman was facing so unexpectedly – probably for the first time in his life – but his dry amusement was glinting in his silver-gray eyes, and the Praetorian's cheeks flushed deep red when two or three droplets of wine-flavored urine escaped him in the very same moment the thick curtain before Germanicus' tent was pushed aside and one of the commander's staff officers emerged in the opening, together with the other guard who'd informed him about Marcus' wish.

Marcus knew him, Lucius Caelius was one of the military tribunes who were not just the spoiled sons of Rome's most aristocratic families, but actually a soldier deep down to his bones, and who valued virtues like courage and loyalty more than social statuses and ranks.

“Ah, Vicotrius, it's always a pleasure to see you! Germanicus made himself very clear that he wanted to be informed about your return instantly because he wants to talk to you and get your report, and we're sorry that the guards were so careless not to recognize you.” The tribune gazed at Marcus for a moment, and then at the embarrassed Praetorian, sniffing the air with a raised eyebrow.

“Visit the latrines before you'll make a fool of yourself and piss against the tent of your Chief Commander, man,” Caelius said with a shake of his head. “How old are you, soldier, that you're crying because you need to pee?” The Praetorian mumbled something unintelligible and set off in the directions of the latrines in a hurried pace, and the tribune turned to the other Praetorian with a snort. “You're lucky that you showed enough sense and reason to inform me about Centurion Victorius' arrival. Imperator Germanicus is already waiting for his report, and I'd advise you to take a good look at the primus pilus of our proud Legion I and keep him in your memory so you'll recognize him the next time you'll see him, soldier! You should better keep in mind that our legionaries are those who win battles and wars, not you!”

“Yes, Domine, of course, Domine,” the young Roman murmured subduedly, and Marcus offered him a conciliatory smile when he made his way past him and into the tent behind Caelius.

“The poor boys will hate me forever,” Marcus remarked, and Caelius threw him a look from over his shoulder with a barked laugh.

“This is nothing that should trouble you, my friend,” he shrugged Marcus' statement off, guiding the young centurion through several separated sections of the tent until they reached Germanicus' private rooms. The two guards standing before the curtain and the personal slave that was bent over a large wooden chest knew Marcus from his former visits and moved out of the way with respectful nods of their heads immediately, and without asking what Marcus wanted from their dominus, just pulling at the curtain to let Caelius and Marcus pass.

Imperator Germanicus was always an impressive sight, even when he was sitting at his desk and staring at the large amount of papyri on the wooden top in frustration. Marcus inclined his head and stood a little bit straighter when the nephew of their princeps looked up at him with tired eyes but a genuine smile softening his strict expression.

“Ave, Centurion Victorious. I am pleased to see you well and back in our camp with all of your faithful legionaries. You have important news for me?”

“Yes, indeed, Domine. I was on patrol with my century to search for the Tropaeum of your father, the honorable Chief Commander Drusus, and even though we weren't lucky regarding this important memorial, but we've found something else instead, something so important that I came here right after our arrival, and without any further delay than that of the minor obstacle your new fussy guards keeping watch before your tent actually turned out to be.”

A strangled sound of dry amusement coming from the tribune standing at his side made Germanicus turn his head for a moment or two, and Marcus felt his lips twitch into an answering smile. The imperator narrowed his eyes, but he let the unspoken understanding between his two faithful officers go without commenting on it, and Marcus cleared his throat and inhaled a deep breath. “It's a delicate matter, Domine, I'd like to ask you to come to my tent and see for yourself what we've brought back to the camp, alone and without any other officers or guards accompanying you – if I'm allowed to make such an impertinent request, Imperator. Your legionaries are already chatting and gossiping enough, and it wouldn't be wise to be careless and let any more rumors spread out before you were able to draw your own careful conclusions based on my report and what I want to show you. The walls have ears, even more as these walls are not made of thick stone, but of linen, wool and leather.”

Germanicus regarded Marcus thoughtfully as he rose to his feet and reached for his helmet out of habit, his hand hovering in the air for a moment before he shook his head and let go of his headgear again. “Hmm, if you're fearing that rumors will spread, then I should perhaps come with you incognito, shouldn't I? There will be even more rumors spreading fast if my legions see me visiting your tent, Centurion – and this without my usual staff officers.”

“You're right with that, Domine,” Marcus admitted, angry with himself that he hadn't thought about that before he'd asked his chief commander to cause a concourse when he walked through the camp with only Marcus and Caelius as his company and guards.

Germanicus directed his gaze at the white wall of the tent behind Marcus' head for a couple of seconds, and the young centurion held his breath, not daring to disturb his adored commander in his thoughts.

“Caelius, hand me your paludamentum and your helmet. We're about the same size, and people won't spare me more than a brief look when they think that I am you. Victorius, ask my manservant Modestus for a cape for Caelius to cover himself with and appear as a simple servant. With our heads lowered down the disguise should work. People always see what they want or expect to see.”

Both men nodded their heads, and Marcus was grateful that Lucius Caelius was reasonable enough not to object against his temporary disguise and appearance as a simple servant like so many other high ranking officers would have done. He went back to the antechamber to get the required cape with a hood that would cover Caelius' features, and Modestus handed his own cape to the centurion with a deep bow and without asking nosy questions. The Praetorian guards were older than their young counterparts at the main entrance to Germanicus' tent, experienced veterans who knew when they needed to keep their mouths shut, and they were looking straight ahead and ignored their superior when Germanicus appeared on the threshold dressed like a tribune with Caelius and Marcus in tow.

“Modestus, you will wait in my office for my return and not let anybody come in. I am 'busied' and I gave you the strict order that I am not to be disturbed, is that understood?”

“Yes, Domine. I won't let anybody in until your return,” Modestus repeated, and Germanicus looked at his bodyguards. “I am still in my office, together with my manservant. No visitors,” he said, and the bulky Praetorians bowed their heads.

“No visitors, Domine,” they said in perfect unison, their faces under control, even though Marcus could almost grab their curiosity with his hands.

“Very well, show me what you've found then, Primus Pilus,” Germancius demanded, and Marcus gestured to the exit with a grim smile. “After you, Domine. I'm sure that you will find my discovery as outstanding as I did.” he said, following the imperator back to his own tent with his heart beating in his chest and his mind racing with thoughts.

Whoever the mysterious Teuton was, Germanicus would find a way to loosen his tongue and interview him about the new weapon, and Marcus would help him, no matter how deep his fascination for this special enemy went. If Germanicus ordered him to torture and kill the warrior, then Marcus would obey and carry out his orders regardless of his reluctance and the strange emotions that were pooling deep in his abdomen and his chest whenever he thought of their prisoner.

He was just a Teuton, a barbarian who'd shed the blood of too many Roman soldiers, and Marcus would better never forget that.

***

Rogelius and his comrades made room for the three newcomers with respectful bows when Marcus came back to his tent with his companions, their attention momentarily drawn to their admired and worshiped chief commander. Germanicus gifted them with a smile and thanked them for their courage and their unwavering loyalty to the Roman eagle with a few warm words, and Marcus felt happy for them when he saw how their cheeks reddened and their eyes started to shine at the praise, their fear, exhaustion and pain forgotten and not important any longer.

Germanicus' aura of self-confidence and firm belief in Rome and the Roman eagle devolved upon even the strongest doubters within his army, and Marcus couldn't imagine any other chief commander he would serve so devotedly rather than Tiberius' nephew, the son of the famous Drusus, who was long dead but still loved and remembered among the Rhine legions. Germanicus achieved to make the terrible loss of three legions and thousands of good and faithful Romans more bearable, his command balm for the deep wound each Roman still carried in their hearts after the lost battle of the saltus Teutoburgensis.

The small booth that served as Marcus' bedroom in his tent was silent when Germanicus stepped to the bed to regard the Teuton who was lying there motionless, his pale gray skin shimmering bluish in the light of the torches and candles Rufus had lit up for the medicus. Marcus' second and the thin Greek medicus were both kneeling before the bed, and Germanicus beckoned them to stay where they were and not make any fuss over him.

Marcus could see that Rufus and his legionaries had undressed the heavy black jacket and the shirt with long sleeves the Teuton had worn when they had found him, and they had taken of his shoes, heavy boots like Marcus had never seen anything similar to them beforehand. They had left him his leather-like trousers, the only clothing that actually resembled the clothing all Germanic tribes usually preferred to wear. His torso was of the same bluish-gray color as his face, and he wore several black tattoos that crossed his upper body in complicated beautiful patterns before they finally disappeared under the waistband of his pants. There was a small tattoo enclosing his left eye, which Marcus had seen before but not really noticed as he'd been too busied with freeing the Teuton from his machine and bringing him back to the camp, and as he now regarded it more closely he thought that the tattoo around his eyes resembled slightly the spread wings of the proud Roman eagle Marcus served with such devotion and faith.

“You have a guest as I can see, Victorius,” the chief commander finally broke the breathless silence, rousing him from his musings and crossing his arms before his chest to look down at the Teuton with pursed lips and thoughtful eyes. “I assume that he didn't follow your invitation to enjoy our Roman hospitality willingly – as he seems to be unconscious and injured?”

“He was already like that when we found him, Domine,” Marcus explained, and the sight of the unknown warrior aroused a new wave of mixed emotions in him the young centurion was hesitant to explore further. Lucius Caelius, who was standing two steps behind Germanicus, bent forward to take a better look at Marcus' sleeping guest, and he cleared his throat and frowned when he stated:

“His looks are strange – even for a Berserker. I'd like to know which tribe he belongs to. He could be from one of the northern tribes we still know only little about.”

“He was awake for a while on our way back here, but he pretended to be still unconscious when I talked to him. I could feel that he was listening, but he didn't respond to me,” Marcus explained, “and yes, I'd already thought the same as you Domine,” he replied, “he could be from the north, but he's definitely human.”

The Greek medicus looked as if he wanted to object, and Germanicus gave him permission to speak with a nod of his head. “Yes, medicus, you want to tell us something?”

“He's not like any human I've ever examined, Domine,” the Greek murmured, and he looked scared and disgusted at the same time when he continued with his report about his examination.

“He doesn't have any visible bleeding injuries – except for one on his right hand, which actually looks more like an old wound. I've bandaged it, and he didn't wake up but reacted in his coma and tried to pull his hand away as if he could feel what I was doing. He has prominent ridges on his spine, and he's far too heavy for his figure and weight. If I didn't know that this isn't possible, then I would say that his bones are made of some kind of stone as heavy as he is. He doesn't possess nipples, and just look at his skin! No one with such a grayish skin can be a normal living being.

Plus, his body is too cool, I would have expected him to be feverish after what happened to him, but he's like someone who has been lying in the cold for too long. I opened his mouth to make sure that he's not choking on his own blood, and his teeth are almost translucent and sharp like blades. Just look at the slits beside his nose. He might as well be one of their gods, descended from heaven to help his children. We should kill him as long as he's still asleep and can be killed without using his godly powers on us!”

Marcus opened his mouth to protest, but Germanicus raised his right hand in a demanding and impatient gesture.

“Don't be ridiculous! Do you really believe that Arminius has the power to make his gods – if they actually exist – descend from their heavenly world to help him fight against the Roman legions? If he had the power to do that, he would have done that much sooner instead of having to beg the other tribes for an alliance and send so many of his warriors into death. This Teuton looks strange, as I have to admit, but he's definitely a simple human and not a god at all. Not to mention that we wouldn't be able to kill him if he were a real god anyway.” Germanicus turned his head to look at Marcus.

“What do you think, Victorius? Do you believe that he's one of their Teuton gods as well?” he wanted to know, and Marcus could feel the eyes of his legionaries on his face as they waited for his answer.

“No, I don't think so. He was awake during our marsh back, and if he was one of their gods, he would have hit us with his godly wrath, but instead he tried to appear still unconscious – as if he was truly afraid of us. No god would need to fear simple humans – Romans or not, right?”

Germanicus nodded with a sound of agreement to make Marcus go on, and the young centurion drew in a deep breath. “We found him trapped in some kind of machine or weapon that had crashed in the forests. We could see it going down when we were on patrol, it fell from the sky with a loud noise and a long tail of smoke.” Marcus waited, and the chief commander nodded again.

“Yes, we've seen something falling from the sky here as well. It was too far away to see what it was, but the guards informed me that they had seen something that was too big for a bird, right, Caelius?”

The tribune inclined his head. “Yes, Domine, but they said that it might have been a large raven or maybe a bevy of birds that had been shot by Arminius' warriors. They're good with bow and arrow.”

“Some kind of machine?” Germanicus looked down at their captive. “What kind of machine, Centurion?”

“I'm not sure, Domine. It looked like the giant tip of our pila, or like a new kind of artillery. He,” Marcus pointed at the warrior on his bed, “was trapped under a dome made of translucent material, glass or something similar, and the machine was completely damaged due to the crash. Arminius must have found a way to build such machines, he served Rome for long enough to know our artillery, and we all know that he's clever enough to come up with a new weapon to kill as many brave Romans as possible.”

“Hmm.” Germanicus stroked his clear-shaved chin in consideration, eyeing Marcus appraisingly from the corner of his eye. “Why didn't you bring the weapon here as well, Centurion?” he asked, and Marcus straightened his shoulders and returned his gaze firmly.

“It was too big and heavy for us to transport it to the camp without a carriage. We were only one century, and I thought it more important to return here together with this prisoner so we can question him and gain more information instead of risking to run into the enemy. Arminius' warriors were on their way to the place of the crash, and they would have outnumbered us considerably. We had to destroy the transparent dome to get him out of his machine, and the destruction the crash had caused was severe. The weapon is of no use for Arminius any longer, we could go back there with two or three cohorts and a big enough carriage to transport it and bring it to you, Domine.”

There was a long moment of silence, and Marcus' felt his knees buckle with relief when the remarkable Roman imperator offered him a brief smile. “You did the right thing, Victorius.” He jerked his head at the Teuton. “He seems to be stable, I hope that he will wake up soon. It would be for the best if he stayed here with you, Centurion. I don't want to risk that one overzealous soldier comes to think that only a dead Teuton is a good Teuton and kills him before we could interrogate him. I don't have any sympathy for him, but we need to know more about this weapon.”

“Yes, Domine, I thought the same and therefore ordered my men to bring him here and guard him.”

“Is there anything you can do to make him wake up, medicus?” Germanicus asked the slim Greek, but the physician shook his head with a displeased frown.

“No, I'm sorry, Domine. I've already tried to wake him up, but he's been lying like this without moving ever since we removed his clothes. All we can do is wait and watch him carefully. He had a knife attached to his belt and one in his boot, but we didn't find any more weapons when we examined him. I would still advise you not to turn your back on him, Domine.” The medicus said, looking at Marcus, and Marcus let out a mocking snort.

“I won't be so stupid to do that, but thank you,” he drawled, “my optio Stellarius and I will take turns with the watch, and Rogelius and his contubernium will stand on guard duty outside my tent.”

“I want to be informed when he wakes up, Centurion. Send your optio to me then, I shall inform my guards that he's to be brought to me at once when he shows up, no matter whether it's day or night.” Germanicus decided, glancing down at the motionless Teuton warrior one last time before he waved at Caelius and turned to the exit. “There's nothing we can do here at the moment, let's leave and set up a plan for the rescue mission of that weapon. We'll have to wait until tomorrow, and we'll need you to tell us where you found it, Victorius, but we don't need to stand around here uselessly and wait for him to wake up. He might be more cooperative when he sees only one or two Romans after waking up anyway. Medicus, I'm sure that you have other patients waiting for your care and attention. I expect you keep everything you've seen here confidential and not talk about it. There's no need to risk arousing a turmoil and spread rumors. Did I make myself clear?”

“Yes, you did, Domine.” The Greek medicus bowed his head and hurried to pack his bag, obviously eager to leave and bring some distance between himself and the mysterious Teuton. Marcus watched him head to the curtain and push it aside, quickly disappearing when the curtain swung back in place again.

Germanicus and Caelius took their leave shortly after, reminding Marcus once more to send Stellarius to them instantly when their captive woke up, and the young centurion turned to his friend when they were alone and said:

“It was a long day, Rufus, get some rest. I'll take the first watch.”

“Are you sure, Marcus?” Rufus was his best friend, more like a brother than a subordinate, and they didn't care about ranks when they were alone with each other. “You must be even more tired than I am,” his optio gave back, but Marcus shook his head. “I wouldn't be able to sleep right now anyway. I want to stay here with our captive until he wakes up. You can sleep on a mattress in my office outside of this room. Grab some food and set up four guards for the first watch.”

“Yes, Marcus, as you wish.” Rufus didn't look happy, but he didn't argue with his friend and superior either. He shot an uncomfortable look at the unconscious Teuton and made his way to the exit, hesitating for a moment before he let out a sigh and pulled at the curtain to leave the small room.

Marcus waited for Rufus' footsteps to fade before he turned around to the bed and looked down at the warrior. “You can open your eyes Teuton. We're alone now, there's no need for you to pretend that you're still unconscious any longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is proven that Germanicus sometimes wandered through the camps of his legions in disguise to leanr more about the mood his soldiers were in and whether or not they were still loyal and willing to fight. 
> 
> It is also proven that the speech of Roman soldiers were rough, but as I have a problem with using words like 'fucking', 'motherfucker' or something like that, I need to come up with my 'own' swear words that could have been used back then. I've read several times in books that adult Romans, especially soldiers, didn't drink milk, so 'son of a goat milker' could be an epithet that works here, as well as 'pig' or 'son of a donkey'. <33


	5. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Areon is finally alone with his captor for the first time since he woke up, and he can't delay their confrontation any longer...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is written from Areon's POV, and I mused about when I should let him realize the truth. Areon is not a scientist, but Wraith in general have a high knowledge of many things due to their immortality as I imagine it to be for them, and together with their photographic memory and their high intelligence I guessed that Areon would realize what happened to him rather quickly and put two and two together. The question is how he will react to his realizations and whether or not Marcus will buy the story he might try to tell him - which will happen in the next chapter. :-)

“You can open your eyes, Teuton. We're alone now, there's no need for you to pretend that you're still unconscious any longer.”

The human's words hung in the air, mocking and challenging him, and Areon stiffened with both fear and anger. No human race living in Pegasus had ever dared to talk to any Wraith like that, never to a powerful queen or high ranking officer, not to a captured or injured warrior or scientist, not even to a drone.

The humans from Earth and parts of the Genii seemed to be the only exception from this rule sometimes, and even they froze in place for seconds when they found themselves face to face with a Wraith. Areon had sometimes wondered what his former commander had experienced in the captivity of the Genii, but the older Wraith had never talked about his years in their bunker, and he'd carefully kept his feelings and thoughts to himself when he'd been on board their Hive, one of the reasons why his crew had finally jumped ships and sworn loyalty to the second when he'd challenged his superior, feeling betrayed by the lack of trust and willingness to really bond with them their old commander had shown to them.

Wraith craved the mental bond with their Hive brothers almost more than they craved human life force when they were starving, and the emptiness in his head hurt Areon more than the hunger burning in his weak body. The mental silence was deafening and like a deep bleeding wound in his head and his heart, and Areon had to reconsider his judgment about his former so admired commander's powers and strength when he'd survived so many years in captivity and without the telepathic bond with his brothers without going insane.

He felt scared and so helpless and confused as he could sense his captor standing beside the bed he'd been laid upon – the faint scent of the human who'd trapped him still emanating from the pillow and the blanket, so tempting and so disturbing at the same time. His strange warden was just standing there and looking down at him silently, waiting for his prisoner to make the next move with a patience that was astonishing and annoying at the same time. His body heat was grazing Areon's face although he had left some distance between himself and the bed, the experienced soldier not taking any risk.

Areon knew that it was pointless to feign unconsciousness for any longer, and he slowly opened his eyes to look up at the human who was so different from any human he'd ever met – even different from the famous and ruthless Colonel Sheppard as far as Areon could tell by the stories he'd heard about this remarkable human officer.

He had to blink against a sudden dizziness before he could focus his unsteady gaze, directing it at the human's face with a mixture of reluctance and disgust. The man's lips twitched upwards in amusement when he saw the contempt that was glittering in Areon's eyes, not the least impressed or deterred by the threat the Wraith was trying to display despite his poor state.

“Still so proud and defiant, aren't you? Even when you're alone, injured and at your Roman master's complete mercy. You'll never learn it, you and your barbaric brothers,” the man stated, his cold gray eyes piercing into Areon's with the self-confidence of the invincible victor. Arrogant silver human gaze met desperate golden Wraith's glance, the two so different males fighting a quiet mental battle Areon couldn't win in his current weak composure.

His breath hitched in his dry throat when his captor bore deeper and deeper into his eyes, reaching through his layers of defiance, arrogance and fury with ease until he could close the iron fist of his hard glare around Areon's beating heart, and the Wraith's mind lay bare before him, robbed of the last of his protective walls and defenses. The human bathed in the fear and despair of his prisoner, pulling his lips back from his teeth in a triumphant growl that vibrated in his broad armored chest, and Areon's burning eyes flickered away from the picture of his own misery that was reflecting in the polished silver mirror of his captor's glance to jump over the sight of the man's trained body instead.

His prison guard stood there in the proud posture Areon had adopted himself so often when a human had lain on their knees before him, begging and trembling with the mortal fear he was experiencing for the first time himself now. Areon could recognize his former self in the way the soldier braced his feet against the ground, his legs slightly spread and showing off his muscular thighs and calves. His bare arms were folded comfortably before his chest, golden bracelets drawing Areon's attention to his perfectly shaped forearms of their own will.

The human soldier was clad in an iron chestplate that enclosed his torso as though the blacksmith had forged the smoldering steel around his body with his maul to built a statue that was meant for eternity. The armor protected his broad shoulders and sculpted upper arms, and it reached down to his slim waist where it ended right above his abdomen. A broad and heavy looking belt with long, swinging metal plates protected the man's groin and his narrow hips and upper thighs over the short tunic-like garment he wore, blinking in the flickering light of the candles like the armor and forming a silver-red halo around him. The woolen piece of clothing underneath was of a gaudy deep red color and ridiculously short, leaving the human's legs and arms bare and exposed to Areon's disbelieving eyes.

Heavy sandals made of thick leather completed the truly unusual outfit. They were cut open at the toes, and long laces and straps slung around his muscular calves and shinbones held them firmly in place. Areon couldn't come up with any logical reason why anybody would want to wear shoes that didn't protect the toes, but his warden was obviously perfectly fine with them. The small plates of his armor shone in the light of the torches, their steely color competing with the silver of the human's eyes, their expression hard and grim, but also curious as he let his prisoner regard him.

The sword attached to the belt would have made Areon snort in scornful contempt if he hadn't been too shocked and too stunned by the whole appearance of his human opponent. He hadn't taken off his iron helmet with the flexible cheek guards yet, probably to impress him and appear more dangerous, and Areon's eyes widened when he lifted them up to the red-colored panache that crowned the top of the helmet like the comb of bird.

This human apparently wanted to mock and ridicule him with his appearance, showing his superiority, because no human from Earth would merely think of posing before a hungry Wraith like that - armed with nothing more than a small sword as their weapon, right? The chestplate was indeed an annoying obstacle for the time being, as it would keep Areon from slamming his feeding hand into the man's sternum, but in the end it wouldn't spare the impudent human the experience of being fed on, not at all. Areon clung to that defiant thought with what little of mental claws and energy he'd been left, and he bared his teeth to a venomous sneer.

“Kneel down before your conqueror, human!” he snarled, trying to wrestle himself into an upright position. The room started to spin around him, and he fell back onto the mattress with a dull sound, much to his horrified disgrace and humiliation.

“ _My_ conqueror?” his captor snorted, “it doesn't quite look like that at the moment, does it? At least you've learned to communicate in a decent and civilized language. Which tribe do you belong to, Teuton?” The man hadn't given up his posture, he'd yet have to even flinch at the wrath he could see in Areon's features, but he didn't bat an eye, just inclined his head in a mocking display of surrender.

“I'm Wraith, human!” Areon snarled, “I'd already learned the old language of the Ancients before you parody of a soldier were even born! Do you really think that you can stand up against a Wraith dressed like that and without a proper weapon?”

His captor frowned a bit, and Areon felt a strange tingling in his stomach. Opposite to most of his brethren he'd always been able to see and appreciate the appealing beauty of their human prey, and this man was truly a remarkably beautiful sight, brimming with strength, healthy and barely hidden virility – despite his ridiculous appearance. His features were angular but handsome and almost aristocratic, a clear evidence of his noble bloodline, and the few strands of hair that had found their way into his forehead were thick and shimmering in a rich dark-brown, a color that fascinated the Wraith deeply as it was the same color as the hair of his former so adored queen had possessed.

“Wraith? Never heard of this tribe. Do you come from the north? And what do you mean with the 'old language of the Ancients'? I've never heard of people with that name either. Rome exists for more than seven hundred and sixty years – for longer than you can ever imagine, Teuton. Rome is the mother of all empires, stronger and more powerful than any other empire that will ever exist, her reign will last forever! My ancestors have spoken Latin before your barbaric ancestors were even capable of this guttural grunting you call a language! You'll better start to show the proper respect each dirty Teuton should display when facing their Roman masters, _Wraith –_ whatever this strange name means to you!”

Areon stared at the impudent human, frozen into disbelieving shock about his reaction. The mere mentioning of the name Wraith had brought terror and fear to an entire galaxy for millennia, and this impertinent creature looked down at him with pride, contempt and an overwhelming sense of superiority, telling him something about a few ridiculous hundreds of years that his 'empire' was existing, nothing more than the blink of an eye in the life of a Wraith. And he'd emphasized the proud name Wraith in such a sarcastic way, that Areon was snarling and sitting upright within an instant, forgetting his fear, his dizziness and his confusion completely. Everything inside him was screaming with ire, his only wish to teach this weak creature his place and quench the fire burning in every cell of his body.

“You impudent creature! Do you really think that your ridiculous sword can keep me from feasting on your life force?” He was up on his knees on the mattress much quicker than his weakened state and pain should allow him to be, reaching out with his feeding hand to slam it into the human's – _Roman's –_ chest and drain him of his impudence and arrogance until only his wrinkled shell was left.

A strong and warm hand pushing hard against his chest threw him back down, and a dagger Areon hadn't noticed beforehand was held against his throat so fast that Areon hadn't even time to breathe in between his attempt to attack the human and finding himself lying flat on his back with a sharp blade cutting into the skin of his vulnerable throat ever so slightly, meant more to be a clear warning than to cause any real harm to him.

“Never. Do. That. Again. _Wraith._ Not if you want to ever see the sun rising again. My 'ridiculous' sword has shed the blood of many, many Teutons, and it's more than eager to taste yours, don't you doubt that. But I don't need a real sword to see your blood reddening the soil of the Roman Empire, _Teuton_ , this nice little pugio will do just fine. It's been a long time since it could glut on barbaric blood, and my blade longs badly to bathe in the claret of our enemies again.”

The Roman's voice was quiet, calm, dangerous. His opponent didn't even breathe faster, and his scent wasn't the scent of distress and fear, but heavy and musky with anger. The face looming over him was calm as well, impassive, but the silver color of his fascinating eyes had changed to the dark gray of a forthcoming storm, and Areon was paralyzed by those bottomless orbs, a new wave of pain and hopelessness capturing his body.

“I hate you!” he croaked out, the lump of fear sitting in his throat choking him. He tore his gaze away from the dark-silver flames of fury that were blazing in the Roman's hateful eyes, staring at his bandaged feeding hand in astonishment to gather the last shreds of his composure and pride.

“The feeling is mutual, I can assure you that much.” The Roman followed his gaze. “This is the only open wound we've found on your body as our healer said – which is a true miracle regarding that you fell from the sky with your machine. Our medicus bandaged it to stop the bleeding, but we need to remove the bandage in a couple of hours to make sure that the wound won't get infected.”

Areon turned and moved his hand back and forth before his face, not sure whether he should laugh about the weird situation or rather start to shout until his voice gave up. “This isn't a wound, and the bandage is not needed. Do you even know what it is?”

“No, should I? My optio told me that you'd injured your hand, but I didn't have the time to look at it so far.” The human looked utterly unimpressed and not the least worried, and the thought occurred to Areon that the government of the United States had kept the existence of the Wraith a secret to the other countries of Earth.

“It is more than foolish to come close to the feeding hand of a Wraith, your medicus was lucky that I was unconscious when he dressed it. He doesn't have an iron armor to protect him like you do – and even your shining armor won't save you when I'm well enough again to rip it from your body and drain you dry, human!”

“You must either have hit your head harder than I thought – or your ability to understand and speak Latin is not as good as it seemed to be at first sight. Nothing of what you're saying is making any sense. Plus – if you ever dare addressing me as 'human' again, then you'll feel my wrath, Teuton. I recognize a brave warrior when I see one, so I won't insist on you addressing me with 'Domine' when we're alone, but you will do that when others are around and show me that you know your place as my prisoner, understood? I'm your Roman master, and at the moment I'm the only one standing between you and more than four thousand furious legionaries. Each single one of them has more than one good reason to kill you, slowly and painfully, believe me, so you'll better start to behave and show the respect your Roman conquerors deserve! But I'm generous today, you can either call me 'centurion' – that's my rank – or Victorius when we're alone. Victorius is my cognomen.”

The Roman centurion – what kind of military rank that actually was, it seemed to be a high and honorable one, judging by the pride that had been audible in the man's voice – looked down at him, and Areon forced himself to nod.

Victorius' reaction time had impressed him, he was apparently a worthy adversary Areon should better not underestimate again, and he was right that those weird Romans outnumbered him considerably, so he would have to obey until he'd found a way to escape.

“I'm not sure what a cognomen is, but I've never understood the human way of naming their people and things anyway. Victorius? You must have been successful in the battle, then?” he asked, and the Roman's eyes lit up. “Indeed. My full name is Marcus Antonius Victorius. Our cognomens – when we have one are the names we usually address each other with,” his captor explained willingly. “I know that Teutons usually have only one name, but that's to be expected by people without a real culture.”

“Marcus...” Areon ignored the insult because he wasn't a Teuton and therefore didn't want to grace it with a comment, instead he tasted the centurion's first name on his tongue. It sounded familiar to one of the names only few Wraith Commanders were honored with from their queens when they had shown true bravery and devotion to them, the name _Marcion_ – which meant _'bravest warrior of the queen'_.

“Yes, my parents dedicated me to the powerful god of war, to God Mars,” the centurion explained, and his voice sounded hoarse with emotion and suppressed longing all of a sudden.

“So, you're not only victorious, but were also meant to become a brave warrior according to the wish of your parents?” Areon felt intrigued against his will, and the unexpected change of topic distracted him from his pain and his fear and was actually more than welcome.

“Yes. The Antonius family has had many brave and loyal warriors fighting for Rome's honor and pride over the long line of generations.”

The Wraith gazed up at him, and Marcus Antonius Victorius slowly sat up and removed the blade from his throat, pushing the dagger back into its sheath attached to his belt.

“Would I be allowed to call you Marcus when we're alone?” Areon asked, trying once more to get up into a sitting position. This time the young Roman didn't push him back onto the bed, but lend him a helping hand. “Why not. It's a honorable name.” Marcus paused for a moment. “What's your name, then? You don't want me to call you _Wraith_ all of the time, do you?” he inquired curiously, the mistrust and disgust visible in his eyes replaced by something that could either be sympathy or just curiosity.

Areon hesitated, as no Wraith usually shared their name with their human prey. But Marcus Antonius Victorius was different from any other human Areon had ever met, and the Wraith knew that he was dependent on him at the moment and that he wouldn't stand a chance against four thousand warriors who wanted to see him dead.

“Areon,” he finally said, searching in Marcus' eyes for any sign of mockery or contempt. “Its meaning is 'brave fighter'.” Areon didn't know why it was so important to him that Marcus acknowledged him as an equal adversary, and he held his breath while he waited for the reaction of his captor.

“A honorable name, and certainly suitable for you as I can see. We have something in common then, I think.” Marcus cleared his throat and frowned, just as though he was irritated about himself that he was siding with the enemy all of a sudden. The Roman rose to his feet in an abrupt motion, stepping back to bring some distance between himself and his captive.

“I need to inform Germanicus about your awakening. We need to know more about Arminius and his new weapon,” he said, “but you must be hungry and thirsty. I shall have one of my men fetching some food for you.” He turned around to call for someone through the curtain, and Areon stared at Marcus' armed back, weighing his options in his mind. He was amazed that Marcus was careless enough to turn his back on him, but it was most likely not carelessness or stupidity, but his sense of superiority and the self-confidence of a very skilled and well-trained warrior that made him act like that. Areon would be stupid himself to kill the only one who was perhaps willing to help him, so he stayed where he was, sitting on Marcus' bed and wondering where the solar flare had thrown him. He didn't have anything to use as a weapon anyway, he was still far too weak to attack Marcus with his bare hands and this wouldn't change until he'd get the chance to feed, which wasn't likely to happen any time soon. Apart from that he needed to find out more about where he'd crashed and how to get to the United States to get the information he needed to find his way back to his brethren, and Marcus or his commanding officer Germanicus were probably the ones who could give him that information, so he would show some cooperation until he'd found out what he wanted to know.

Areon drew in a deep breath as he waited for Marcus to return to him, and the sudden insight that the real question was probably not 'where' he'd stranded, but _'when' –_ considering Marcus' entire appearance and his weapons - hit him like a hammer and caught him completely by surprise. He hadn't wanted to see the truth, but he couldn't deny it any longer. Areon was no scientist, but he'd encountered enough human races in various states of civilization and technology when he'd been on the hunt together with his brothers to be able to judge their stage of development, and everything he'd seen and experienced since he'd gone down with his dart could only mean that he'd traveled back through time probably hundreds or even thousands of years. It was unlikely that a large empire like Marcus claimed his Roman Empire to be could exist next to the totally different world Colonel Sheppard and his New Lanteans had come from and this at the same time, and there were more evidences that a trip back through time was the only logical explanation for the circumstances Areon found himself in.

Marcus' Romans apparently knew how to forge steel and process iron, but parts of his armor were made of bronze, an alloy that was rather easy to process even for populations on a rather low level of civilization, but not really sufficient regarding an advanced technology like aircraft required it for example. Wraith used bronze for jewelry now and then, but that was all. Using it for armors or weapons would never even cross their minds, and Marcus was clearly really proud of his origin and the empire he served with such devotion, so he couldn't know anything about naquadah or the metal alloys advanced human races used for their technology. They didn't even seem to know electricity, another clear proof that these humans didn't know anything about space travels.

Areon didn't have much knowledge about the history of Earth, but he thought that he'd remembered that their stargate had been found only a couple of years before Colonel Sheppard had come to Atlantis, and that his planet had started to built star ships that could travel through hyperspace based on the technology they had gotten from the races they had encountered after their first trips through the stargates. They weren't like the human races of the Pegasus Galaxy which were mostly farmers but had used the stargates for millennia and centuries and were therefore familiar with other races from various different planets. Earth had been isolated in their galaxy until a couple of years ago, and Areon chided himself that he hadn't seen the obvious right at first sight.

The lack of technological traces on the surface he'd missed when he'd looked out of his dart, animals used as means of transportation, the torches and the furniture of the tent, Marcus' clothes and armor, his behavior and way of speaking, taken all of this together into account, Areon came to the same conclusion again and again.

The Roman Empire Marcus was so proud of might be the most powerful of its time, but the country Colonel Sheppard and his expedition team came from would overrun Marcus' soldiers with their automatic weapons, their air fighters and star ships within minutes or even seconds, and that Rome still existed could only mean that his own fight against Earth and Atlantis had happened in a future far, far away from where Areon was stranded.

Maybe he'd even been thrown into another reality as well, and _his_ Super Hive and brethren were either all dead or perhaps still fighting. The world started to spin around Areon again when he realized with a sudden clearance and utter dismay that he was perhaps trapped in another universe, but definitely in an unknown past at least – a past that must take place long before the Earth how Areon had seen it from on board the Super Hive and by the data they'd collected would be.

He was alone, the only Wraith trapped among a race of humans that was proud and strong and not like any human race he'd ever known because they'd never experienced the terror of being food for a superior race, and Areon had no chance to ever return to his brethren again.

He was alone and helpless, and right now, he wished that he'd died in the crash, because the future he would have to face, a future without his brothers, was far scarier and worse than anything Areon could actually imagine.

The Wraith let out a sound of utter despair, and he curled himself up on the bed and hid his face in his arms, too shocked, numb and desperate to even cry.


	6. Cautious approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus tries to find out more about his special captive and guest, and he finds himself more and more drawn to the warrior - who is not like any other Teuton he's met so far...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's finally the promised new chapter, one week later than planned, but real life and some health issues getting in the way.  
> I'm doing my best to write this story under the premise of how encounters between humans and Wraith could turn out to be when the humans don't know anything about the lethal threat they're facing in the presence of a Wraith, and how it would be for the Wraith being treated totally different from what they're used to because of the humans' ignorance about their true nature. I hope that it comes across and is plausible and enjoyable to read! <3

Marcus knew that it was a risk to turn his back to Areon and give him the chance to attack him, and his attention was directed at the space behind his back as he called for Secundus to fetch something to eat and to drink for his guest, frowning at himself for his choice of words.

Areon was his prisoner, not his guest, and that he knew the Teuton's name now and felt some kind of weird connection to him didn't change that. The young centurion had never heard of a Teuton tribe that called themselves _'Wraith',_ and he knew most of the tribes living in this wooded land, at least he'd thought that he knew most of them. Areon's people had to live far in the northern or eastern parts of Germania that Marcus hadn't known about their existence before today, and they'd obviously decided to join their forces with Arminius just recently. Which was probably a fortunate thing regarding how close Arminius had been to killing Caecina and defeating four more legions at the Pontes longi last year.

Marcus threw a quick glance back over his shoulder to see what Areon was up to, but the Teuton was just sitting on his bed, motionless like a marble statue and staring at him with those strange yellow-golden eyes. The centurion had never seen eyes of such color and shape with pupils that were slits rather than rounds, but he'd heard stories of drugs a lot of barbaric tribes used to heighten their strength and courage before they went into battle, and it was likely that these drugs could also alternate the looks of those who used them to a much scarier and dangerous appearance. He couldn't deny that he felt deeply fascinated by this warrior – whether barbaric and hostile or not – and he tore his rapturous gaze away from the sight with effort to focus his attention on Secundus again.

The legionary was approaching him with a tray in his hands. “It's not that much, Domine,” Secundus apologized, “just some bread and cold meat, but the water is fresh.”

“It'll be sufficient, thank you, Secundus. He's awake, but I want him to eat and drink before having Germanicus informed about his state, so please wait for my call.”

“Of course, Domine.” Secundus craned his neck to risk a glance at their uncommon prisoner, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead as he caught sight of Areon. “He's not like any other Teuton I've ever met, and I've met quite a lot,” he mused, sounding surprised about his own words, “ he's neither like those who are faithful to Rome and serving in our auxilia, nor like Arminius' slaughterers. I didn't think that I'd ever feel any sympathy for a Teuton – of which tribe whatsoever, but there is something about this one... I just don't know...” Secundus' voice trailed off, and Marcus was secretly glad that he wasn't the only one feeling this way about Areon, but he schooled his features into a mask of calm and indifference.

“He said that he's coming from a tribe that has been unknown to us so far, maybe it's that what makes him appear different from the others,” Marcus just said, “and it would seem that his tribe had not built an alliance with Arminius' Cherusci until recently. Just keep your eyes and ears open, legionary, and wait until you'll receive new orders.”

“Yes, Domine.” Secundus shot another glance in Areon's direction before Marcus let the curtain slide back down to carry the tray back to the bed. The young centurion noticed the change in the other warrior's posture instantly when he approached him, and he frowned in irritation of what could be the cause of that sudden change.

Areon had curled himself up on Marcus' bed, but it was obvious that he hadn't fallen unconscious or asleep again, the aura of utmost despair and hopelessness surrounding him forming a tight lump in Marcus' throat.

Marcus stopped dead in his tracks before the bed, almost dropping the tray he was holding in his initial shock. He carefully put it down onto the wooden chest where he kept his belongings during the campaigns, and which served him as a bedside table on these occasions as well, his hands hanging loosely at his sides as he looked down at his prisoner and thought about what to say to get through to him and pull him out of his state.

Just a few minutes ago he'd looked over his shoulder and seen the Germanic warrior appraising him as he'd contemplated his chances on attacking Marcus from behind, but now Areon was looking like someone who'd literally lost everything, even his will to survive. The change was so thorough and unexpected that it was actually pretty frightening.

Marcus had already seen others before who'd looked like Areon was doing now, soldiers who'd lost their limbs and their friends and brothers-in-arms all together, comrades who'd been forced to watch their companions and mates bleed out right next to themselves while they were screaming with their own searing pain, the prospect of death saving them from their agony a real mercy instead of arousing any fear and horror.

As the devoted soldier he was himself, he knew that no one who didn't serve in the Roman legions themselves could understand how deep this bond between comrades actually went. This bond often went much deeper than the bonds that tied families or lovers together, only comparing to the strong bond that built between parents and their children when they held their newborns in their arms for the very first time.

Marcus had seen strong and powerful men breaking down because they'd lost their wives, children and homes to a fire or a terrible illness, and their losses had been so thorough and horrible that there had nothing been left that was worthy enough to continue live for afterwards. Some of them decided to survive and stay alive until their revenge on those who were responsible for their unbearable loss was accomplished, but sometimes not even the thought of revenge was enough to make them fight for their own lives, and they'd just give up and die on a broken heart.

The sight of Areon's body lying curled in on himself in unbearable heartbreak reminded Marcus of these people, and he wondered what had happened within these short minutes to make the warrior lose his will to survive like that. All defiance, hate and fury was gone from him, his shoulders slumped in utter devastation and absolute defeat. It couldn't be just the fear of being trapped alone in a Roman camp with thousands of Roman soldiers just waiting to kill him, if that were the reason, then Areon would have broken down earlier.

Marcus didn't know much more about him other than his name and the name of his tribe – or that he had learned to speak Latin and had access to machines Marcus had never seen beforehand – but he recognized a strong and brave warrior when he saw one, and it was clear to him that a sudden bout of cowardice or fear to be tortured was not what had changed Areon's attitude that thoroughly and quickly.

It must be something else, something the Teuton had realized while Marcus had stood with his back to him, and he really wanted to know what it was. He sat down on the edge of his bed and reached out with his hand to touch the hunched shoulder. Areon's face was hidden in his arms, and his long silvery hair was covering it too, so Marcus stroked it out of the way to catch a glimpse of the other one's features, so alien and yet so male and appealing. His hair was soft like precious silk, softer than Marcus had expected it to be, and he caught himself as he let the silken strands glide through his flexing fingers to revel in their softness. The faint scent emanating from the liquid-like silver aroused the wish in him to lift Areon's hair to his face and bury his nose in it, and he pulled his hand away with a strangled sound as if he'd just burnt it.

The curtain of Areon's long hair fell back onto his shoulders, and Marcus swallowed, annoyed with himself that he seemed unable to control himself and his emotions whenever he came close to the Teuton. It had already started on their way back to the camp, when the feeling of the strong male body pressed so close to his own had roused emotions in him he'd suppressed vigorously for so long, carefully locked away deep inside his heart. The longing for the touch of another human being that went deeper and had more meaning than just the brief companionable pat on his armored shoulder from one of the other centurions after a won battle, the touch of a hand that bore the same calluses from holding a sword as he did, smelling of musk and sweat instead of sweet perfume. The yearning for the warmth of another body encasing his own, of a body that was solid and unyielding and mapped by a landscape similar to his own physique, lines, hills and valleys shaped out of firm muscles that had hardened over the long course of countless training lessons, battles and fights.

Marcus was usually good at ignoring his innermost needs and forbidden desires, and it had always been easy enough for him to explain the few breaches his strict self-control had suffered over the years with the drug-like rush of emotions that was always lingering after another victory or defeat; and that the few stolen moments of heated encounters with another soldier were nothing more than just a desperate reassurance that he was still alive and able to feel something – anything other than horror, hate and fury. That these encounters only happened because there were no whores available in this moment, and that they wouldn't happen again in the future...

But Areon somehow cut right through his defenses and tore down the walls he'd built around himself, and Marcus felt like looking into a mirror and seeing himself in the reflection of the warrior's golden gaze with a sudden and intense clearance that made him painfully aware of his long-practiced self-deception whenever their eyes met.

“What's wrong?” he asked, and the two words came out harsher than he'd intended them to sound. His hand was hovering over Areon's miserable figure, and he stared at it for a moment before he slowly and cautiously lowered it down in a second attempt to offer some kind of comfort with his touch on the Teuton's shoulder.

The warrior didn't move or acknowledge that he'd even heard him, but there was the faintest hint of a reaction to his touch, a light trembling that went through the limp body when the warmth of the Roman's fingers seeped through his smooth and much cooler skin. Marcus suppressed his own reaction to the contact that felt unexpectedly intimate and simply waited, because there was nothing he could do other than wait anyway, as he seriously doubted that the threat of torture would pull Areon out of his state and loosen his tongue. The Wraith clearly wasn't afraid of any kind of physical pain his Roman captors could possibly inflict on him, as Areon hadn't behaved as though he was someone fearing physical torture so far, and a man who'd lost everything, even his will to survive, couldn't really be threatened with the prospect of his imminent death either.

Silence stretched between them, and the young centurion had to bend down to his captive to understand his whispered words when Areon turned his head at last. He wasn't looking at Marcus, staring at small spot on the fabric of the tent instead, the multi-toned vibrations of his voice Marcus had noticed but not really acknowledged beforehand hardly audible due to the shallowness and despair in his strangled voice.

“You'll kill me anyway, so just get it over with and do it. There is nothing I can tell you – nothing I wish to tell you. I don't know this Arminius you've been talking about, he doesn't mean anything to me – nor does his barbaric fighters mean anything to me. I'm not one of them.”

“I have no intention to kill you, and our chief commander won't give the order to kill you in case that you decide to be cooperative either,” Marcus said, but his words just earned him a mocking huff. “I'm alone, it doesn't matter what happens to me.”

Areon still refused to look at him, and Marcus pushed the silken strands out of the way to regard his face. “I understand that you're feeling lonely, Teuton, each one of us has already experienced the feeling of loneliness on some occasions. But the sooner you'll start talking, the sooner you will be allowed to return to your own people.”

Marcus was well aware that he'd just made a promise that was beyond his power to be kept, but Germanicus had been willing to listen to his advice a couple of times in the past so far, and the centurion held on to the hope that the imperator wouldn't kill Areon when he had the information he wanted but show mercy and let him live. The question why it was so important to him that the Teuton wasn't killed was a question Marcus was afraid to ask himself, and the possible answer to this question was even scarier, so he decided to think about it later and just focus on the here and now - and the best way to shake Areon out of his hopeless despair.

The golden eyes of his captive flickered up to his face, but the expression of devastation and utter defeat remained firmly in place without any change.

“You have no real concept or understanding of loneliness, Roman... _human._ Your kind will never know the true meaning of this word – let alone of the feeling that is behind it.”

The way Areon had emphasized the words Roman and human was odd, and Marcus got the impression that there was more behind his words than the obvious, even though he didn't understand what it was at this point. He could object against what his strange prisoner had just said, tell him that it was pretty arrogant of him to make such a statement and claim it as the only truth, but instead he just asked:

“Tell me then, explain it to me.”

Areon turned his head away. “You wouldn't understand.”

“What makes you so sure about that, Teuton?” Marcus felt bereft of something precious in a strange way when the warrior averted his golden eyes to hide his inner pain from him, and he flexed the fingers resting on Areon's shoulder in a brief reassuring caress.

Areon tensed under his hand, a low growl escaping his lips. “Don't call me that, _Roman._ I'm _not_ a Teuton – I'm _Wraith –_ as I've already told you! I have _nothing_ to do with those barbaric people you're obviously at war with.”

“That's hard to believe considering where we found you and your machine – or weapon?!” Marcus retorted, a wave of relief washing over him at the defiant and annoyed tone of Areon's voice. Everything was better than the aura of complete devastation from a couple of minutes earlier, and if being angry with him was what pulled Areon out of his state, then so be it.

“I had no intention to crash where I did, believe me. It was a very unfortunate... coincidence, not my deliberate decision to cross paths with either you Romans or this Arminius and his people. If I could turn back the clock and undo what happened I would do that instantly.”

“I see.” Marcus felt hurt, even though this was ridiculous of course. Areon shifted to shoot him a sidelong glance, a brief emotion crossing his features and replacing the hopelessness for a heartbeat.

“You remind me of someone,” he said thoughtfully, “someone I never met personally – but they mean... meant... a great deal to someone I once used to know.”

Marcus glanced at him, and the Teuton – no, _Wraith_ – returned his gaze with a look of melancholy and wistfulness that was darkening the yellow color of his eyes to a rich gold.

“How can I possibly remind you of someone you don't even know?” he asked, and Areon shrugged his shoulders, but he slowly and tiredly sat up and met his gaze with the tiniest spark of revived spirits in the bottomless depths of his unique eyes. Marcus took that as a good sign that his captive was gathering new hope. It might not be much, but anything was better than the indifference he'd shown over the last half an hour.

“From the way the one I knew spoke of him, from what he told about him, and how he defended him and sought his presence again and again. I never understood his fascination or why he cared so much about him, not until today, that is. I might have been wrong in my judgment, we all might have – my brethren and I, and we all paid the price for our huge mistake. There is much more about your race than we wanted to acknowledge, I guess.” Areon sounded thoughtful and regretful at the same time, and Marcus realized that he was still touching him when he unconsciously squeezed his shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

“Where are your brothers now, Areon?” he inquired, even though another question was burning on his tongue. The sound of Areon's rich voice when he'd spoken of the one he'd once known had been underlain with a sadness and longing that came from the deepest parts of one's soul, and Marcus thought that this special someone must have meant more to Areon than he could ever imagine. It was disturbing, it was foolish and ridiculous to feel this way about a captive he knew for barely more than a few hours, and who was still a stranger to him – his enemy and possible lethal threat if he was careless enough to turn his back to him for too long.

“They are gone, Marcus Antonius Victorius. Their mistake probably cost them their lives, and I can never return to them.” Areon glanced at him from the side. “Do you understand now why it doesn't matter to me whether or not you'll kill me? I'm left alone, my brethren are all dead, and there is nothing left for me, nothing worth living and fighting for. I have just one last wish – that you'll be the one to kill me. You're a warrior like I am, a kindred spirit in some way, and it would be an act of mercy and honor if you respected my wish and were the one holding the blade that will end my misery.”

Areon's voice reached his ears, but the words blurred to a strange sizzling noise, and Marcus froze in shock when he realized what the Wraith had just asked him, what he wanted him to do. The young centurion was a soldier with every fiber of his being, and he'd killed countless enemies during the many, many battles he'd fought, but for some reason he couldn't bear the thought of killing Areon or watching him die, and he slowly shook his head and said:

“No, Areon, I won't kill you. I have no reason to do so, and I won't do that. Nor will I let you kill yourself. If your story is actually true and you're not one of Arminius' warriors, and that you really can't return to your own tribe, then we will offer you a place in our legions, but I won't kill you.”

They stared at each other silently for long seconds before Areon turned his head away, his voice shallow and impassive when he spoke up again.

“You're making a mistake, Roman, and you'll come to regret your decision when you know who I am, I can assure you that much. Kill me now, and I promise you that I won't fight against you. If you don't, then the blood of your own men will coat your hands, Marcus Antonius Victorius – because you won't get a second chance to kill me that easily as it would be for you now. Remember my warning and make sure that I won't be your doom.”

A cold shiver ran down on Marcus' back at Areon's cryptic declaration, but he shook his head with the same stubbornness that had saved his life on the battlefield so many times. “No, I won't.”

Areon regarded him with a stony face for a moment or two and then inclined his head in acceptance of his defeat, still looking at him intently; and Marcus suddenly felt as if the warrior was trying to read his thoughts – which couldn't be as no human being was able to read the thoughts of another person. There was a deep connection between him and his twin-brother Gaius, a connection that was even palpable over the thousands of miles of distance between them, but it wasn't as if he could actually read Gaius' mind. Now he was feeling the same connection to the Wraith warrior, invisible threads that formed a bond between them like he'd only experienced with his closest brothers-in-arms so far.

“I understand.” Areon stated after a while, “you should call for your chief commander then. I can't tell your Imperator Germanicus what he wishes to know about the one you call Arminius, but it would be pointless to delay the inevitable for much longer. Maybe he will be more reasonable than you are and come to the conclusion that I'm useless to him and that killing me is the best way for all of you to end our acquaintance.”

“I don't think that he will think any different about this, but you're right that I should call for him. I just want you to eat and drink something first.”

Marcus pointed at the tray sitting on the wooden chest, and the warrior looked at it with an expression of disgust on his face. “The... food you can offer me is not the food I require, Roman.”

Marcus frowned in irritation and annoyance. “I'm sorry that this meager meal doesn't meet your taste and your expectations, _Wraith._ It's good enough for me and my men, so it will be good enough for you as well. Did you really expect filled quail's eggs and roasted goose or other delicacies like that?”

Areon sighed, and his features contorted as if he were in great pain. Which he probably was after his crash as Marcus reminded himself with a bad conscience. But the Wraith's voice was placatory when he said:

“It's not your fault, Marcus. It's just that this food won't sustain and nourish me the way I need it.”

“So what is it that you need? I'll do my best to get it for you.”

Areon turned his head to look at the spot on his shoulder where Marcus' fingers were covering his pale grayish skin, then peered at him from under his silver lashes with a strangely appraising and hungry glint in his golden eyes. “There's nothing you can do for me – unless you want to offer yourself to me?”

This had to be some kind of joke or challenge Marcus didn't have the knowledge to understand at this point, and he offered his captive a brief smile and what he hoped to appear as a carefree shrug of his shoulders. “Maybe another time? I don't think that I'd be very tasty anyway.”

Areon's eyes were glowing in such an intensive golden color now that Marcus found himself unable to look away, and there was something in his gaze, a strange kind of yearning he couldn't help but respond to. The warrior was still weak and in a bad shape after his crash, but he was also still an impressive sight, strong and beautiful. He reached out with his bandaged right hand to touch Marcus' face, stroking over the lines with his long clawed fingers.

“You'd be more delicious to me than anything I've ever tasted, Marcus, surely the most delicious meal I ever had in my life. Don't underestimate yourself,” he said, his voice low like the purr of a big cat. “But even though this is the case, the thought of draining you is not as appealing to me as it should be, so you'll be safe, Centurion Victorius.”

“Hmm, I'm lucky then, I guess?” Marcus allowed his cautious smile to deepen, unsure what to make out of Areon's mysterious explanation, and to his surprise and relief Areon returned it genuinely. Just for the blink of an eye, but a start was made. They looked each other in the eyes again, and Marcus felt warmth rising deep in his belly, warmth that felt suspiciously like something he hadn't allowed himself to feel for a very long time. He cleared his throat and blinked to regain his composure. Areon dropped his hand down, looking at the white dress wrapped around his palm with a light frown, but he didn't make an attempt to pull it off.

“Are you sure that you don't want to eat anything, Areon?” Marcus wanted to know, distracting the Wraith from his observation.

“Yes, I am, thank you. But I would be grateful for some water,” the warrior replied, and Marcus handed him the mug with the water, watching Areon drink.

“I'll have to inform Germanicus that you're awake now, Areon,” the young centurion said slowly when Areon put the mug down again, and the Wraith nodded his head.

“Yes, I know. Is he as fascinating and remarkable as you are, Marcus Antonius Victorius?” Areon's golden eyes were roaming over his face, as if he wanted to burn the sight of Marcus' features into his memory.

The young centurion felt his cheeks heat up, something that hadn't happened to him in a long time. “Uhm, I think that it is not my place to make such a judgment, but I can assure you that our chief commander is a remarkable man and great fighter and leader. He's the one making a difference when the situation seems to be hopeless, and his legions follow him wherever he goes. He's our eagle, the Roman eagle we've sworn to serve with all our hearts even til death. But I'll take your words that you find me worth to remember as a compliment, Areon.”

“They were meant as one, Marcus, and you're definitely more than worth to remember. I didn't think that I would ever say that about any human, but I do now.”

Marcus knew that he should get up, but his reluctance to have Areon questioned by Germanicus made him stay where he was, sitting on his bed beside the warrior. Areon's skin was cooler than his own, and his scent didn't resemble any other human scent he'd smelled so far, but it wasn't unpleasant, quite the opposite, and very male and musky. His pale gray skin was shimmering wetly in the light of the torches, but he didn't smell of sweat, and it looked more as if he'd rubbed some kind of oil into it or something like that. The dark lines of the tattoos crossing his torso fascinated Marcus, and he longed to touch them, but he withstand his desire to do so, the weight of Areon's wary gaze on his face making him retreat to another question instead.

“Are you really sure that your brothers are all dead?”

Areon sat there motionless, and Marcus could feel his pain, inwardly chiding himself that he'd reminded him of his loss right after the warrior had relaxed a little bit.

“I don't know, Marcus. The last time I had... contact with them they were in trouble and fighting their own battle. But even if they're still alive, there's still no chance for me that I can ever return to them, so for me they're gone.”

“I see.” Marcus knew that there were no words that would make Areon feel any better about his loss, so he didn't offer any, just reached out to squeeze the other one's shoulder again in the silent understanding only true warriors could share, a gentle touch of his warm hand that offered what his mouth couldn't do.

Areon looked at him gratefully, and Marcus cleared his throat for a second time and drew in a deep breath as he eventually rose to his feet.

“I'll call for Germanicus now.”

The Wraith nodded silently, and Marcus walked over to the curtain to do his duty like he'd always done it ever since he'd sworn to serve mother Rome with his body, his mind and his soul years ago, dedicating his life to the Roman eagle like every true Roman should do.


	7. New hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Areon has his first encounter with Marcus' admired chief commander Imperator Germanicus, and he feels more and more drawn to these fascinating Earthlings, which are so different from any other human race he has ever encountered in his life so far, proud and strong and so unaware of his true nature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure about this chapter, I hope it turns out to be the way I intended it to be. <33

Marcus' chief commander Germanicus came in disguise again, the hood of a woolen cape hiding his sharp aristocratic features on his way through the dark camp up to Marcus' tent. He was accompanied by the other Roman who'd already come with him the first time, and Areon had to admit that the superior his host spoke about with so much audible admiration was as remarkable and impressive as Marcus had claimed that he was. His presence was filling the small bedroom like the Wraith had only ever experienced it with queens or a few powerful commanders so far, his former Commander included. Not even the second who'd overtaken the Super-Hive had possessed such an aura of power, and Areon felt much more affected by it than he'd thought it possible.

That he hadn't felt quite the same way during Germanicus' first visit was probably due to the fact that he'd been too busied with feigning unconsciousness, and still too dizzy and confused about what had happened to him to focus his attention fully on the humans that were talking about him as if he were some rare exhibit and not a dangerous adversary. His long talk with Marcus had also served to revive some of his spirits again, and Areon was actually surprised to find the slightest hint of curiosity in his aching mind, curiosity and the wish to get to know these fascinating humans a little bit better. Humans that weren't anything like the human races living in the Pegasus Galaxy and under the millennia-lasting threat of the Wraith that had finally taken their courage and strength away.

Marcus greeted his chief commander with a deep respectful bow, but he didn't apologize for having called for the powerful Roman officer that late, his behavior a perfect mixture of devoted obedience toward an admired superior and healthy self-esteem about his own worth and status. Germanicus had given the clear order that he wanted to be informed about the awakening of their new prisoner instantly whenever it happened, so there was actually no reason for Marcus to apologize for his late call at all. But Areon was self-critical enough to know that he would have apologized to their new commander for any disturbance nevertheless – regardless of whether or not his superior had actually ordered him to do so.

“His name is Areon, Domine, and he knows Latin well enough for a rather fluent conversation,” was all Marcus said about their earlier talk, withdrawing to a spot near the exit to take up position there and let the imperator interrogate their prisoner without interfering. Germanicus handed his cape to the other Roman who'd come with him, and the older one took it silently and retreated as well, looking down at Areon with an impassive mask on his weather-beaten features but visible mistrust glowing in his dark eyes.

Areon was still seated on Marcus' bed, deliberately ignoring the offended gasp coming from the older Roman at Germanicus' side. Everything inside him screamed to jump to his feet and attack these impudent creatures who thought themselves to be superior to a Wraith, but he stayed where he was, displaying as much arrogance on his own face as he could muster under the circumstances and in his still rather weak state.

“Kneel down before your master, Teuton. If you're strong enough to sit, then you're strong enough to kneel just as well!”

Germanicus' quiet words cut harshly through the tent, and Areon really had to give the Roman credits for his behavior, which was simply owed to the fact that the humans living on Earth in these times had never made the acquaintance of any Wraith beforehand - and therefore simply didn't realize the lethal danger they were in. He might be weak, but he was still strong enough to fight against three humans all together – even when they were wearing metal armors – and only the awful certainty that he could never return to his brethren kept him from taking the lives of these three men and drain them dry to feast on their delicious life-force. Maybe Marcus' superior proved himself to be wiser than the impressive centurion had turned out to be in his stubbornness and misguided sense of sympathy with a complete stranger, letting himself be lured into Areon's trap and do what Areon wanted him to do.

The Wraith let out a snarl of utter contempt and disgust, regarding the tall Roman commander like he would appraise a human trapped in a Wraith cocoon in contemplation of his next meal, and he got up from the bed slowly and rose to his feet with the natural grace of the fierce and dangerous predator. Germanicus was tall for a human, of the same height as Areon, and he held his ground and met his eyes with enough arrogance and menace of his own that was reflecting in his hard glare to force a weaker opponent down onto their knees in an instant – which was actually astonishing for someone without any telepathic ability.

“No Wraith will ever kneel before a weak human,” Areon growled, stopping inches apart from the proud chief commander and hissing right into his face. “We bend our knees only to our queens, and you would even not be worthy enough to lie before my queen with your face pressed in the dirt. In my world humans kneel before their masters, so kneel down before your new _dominus,_ Roman, and show the for an inferior and ridiculous human appropriate behavior!”

The Roman officer standing two steps behind Germanicus roared in red fury at the terrible insult of his admired commander, but Germanicus didn't even blink, only his narrowing eyes giving his own anger away. He raised a demanding hand to keep his underling from drawing his sword and slitting Areon's throat right away, remaining motionless except for this short gesture and just staring back at Areon.

They measured each other with heated glares, their faces so close that Areon could feel Germanicus' warm breath on his face and his body heat brushing over his bare torso and arms. Marcus' presence on the other side of the small room was lingering in the back of his mind, and he was surprised that the dark-haired centurion hadn't made any attempt to step in so far, so his confidence in his chief commander must really be pretty strong.

“Well spoken for someone who is so gutless that he can only attack from an ambush instead of seeking a fight face to face, so typical for coward Teutons. Your _'queens'_ , huh? So your broads have taken charge now? This would surely explain your cowardice, no real man would ever accept a woman as their ruler. I'd really like to meet your _queen_ and pay my _respects_ to her,” Germanicus sneered, and now it was Areon's turn to roar and raise his bandaged feeding hand to slam it into the shimmering breastplate that was protecting the Roman's upper body, his vision blurring at the mocking insult of any powerful Wraith queen.

The next thing he knew was that he was lying flat on his back on Marcus' bed with bent knees and his feet still touching the floor, the blade of a short sword pressed against his vulnerable throat. The officer who'd accompanied Germanicus was looming over him, his knee digging hard and painfully into Areon's stomach and keeping him trapped and immobile on the bed. Areon really hadn't thought that the middle-aged Roman would have such a quick reaction time and could still move so fast. He could surely throw the Roman off if he'd actually put his mind to that, but he'd insulted and provoked Marcus' superior for good reasons and therefore remained where he was, going still and looking up at Germanicus, curious about the Roman's next move.

“So you're not only a coward, but a fool as well, Teuton. Not really surprising as I have to say.” Germanicus' voice was calm and more thoughtful than angry, his raised hand keeping his officer from hurting his prisoner.

“And you're someone needing others to fight your battles, _human!”_ Areon spat, just to provoke his opponent further and make him lose his control so he'd fulfill Areon's wish and kill him, causing Germanicus' officer to growl in warning at the new offense and increase the pressure of his blade on his throat.

The Wraith didn't really think that the chief commander wasn't capable of fighting, it was obvious that he would be a worthy opponent in close combat or sword fight, at least for a human, and Areon had to think of the stories he'd heard about Sheppard's team, especially about the former runner Ronon Dex and the Athosian leader Teyla Emmagan. There were only few human fighters who could keep up with a Wraith for some time – even when the Wraith happened to be injured or weakened from starvation - but these Romans here seemed all to be brave and skilled warriors, worthy to become runners for their Wraith hunters - if the Wraith of this timeline would only have known about their existence, that is.

Germanicus answered to this insult with a shrug of his shoulders, turning his head to the side when Marcus made himself known after having remained silent throughout Areon's first banter with his superior.

“Am I allowed to speak, Domine?” he asked, and Germanicus gave him permission with a short nod. “Go ahead, Victorius.”

“He's trying to make you kill him this way. He uttered his death wish to me earlier when he'd woken up, and I refused to kill him, so he's determined to achieve his goal through you instead, thinking that you will become angry enough to kill him if he's just insulting enough.” Marcus' voice was even, but Areon could detect a strange undertone nonetheless. Could it really be that Marcus felt disappointed and betrayed about his attempt to make Germanicus kill him after Marcus himself had declined his request half an hour ago?

Germanicus turned his head back to Areon to look down at him thoughtfully. “Is that so, Teuton?” he inquired, his face unreadable and his voice impassive.

“I'm _not_ a Teuton, I am _Wraith!_ I don't belong to the barbarians you apparently haven't been able to defeat so far. Whoever this Arminius is you and your underlings are talking about the entire time, he would lie in the dirt at the feet of my queen just like you, Roman!” Areon hissed, so tired of being mistaken for one of these human creatures he didn't even know, another dangerous growl making its way to his ears for his constant insolence.

“If you'll ever dare addressing Imperator Germanicus this way again I'll let your wish come true and kill you, _Wraith!_ It's _Domine_ for you when you speak to him, and you'll kneel before our chief commander and kiss his calcei to show the appropriate respect towards him, is that clear?” The Roman officer pressing the sword against his throat snarled, but Areon didn't even grace him with a single glance. He just returned Germanicus' gaze, waiting for his order to kill him now, and the brief surge of regret shooting through him at the thought that he wouldn't be able to spend more time with the brave centurion and learn more about these admittedly rather fascinating humans, who were so strong, brave and proud, actually surprised him more than just a little bit – as he'd been so sure about his wish to die just minutes ago.

“I asked you a question, Wraith. Don't make me repeat myself.” Germanicus had folded his arms before his shimmering breastplate, and his quiet voice had gained a calculating undertone at Areon's indignant statement. He didn't even bother with defending himself and explaining that he could stand up for himself and didn't need his officers to speak for him, self-confident enough to know his own capacities and worth to feel the need and justify himself to someone he considered to be inferior to him. Military hierarchy and commanding structures were something Areon knew perfectly well and that he could respect, and these Romans had a similar archaic way of life to the one Wraith actually still preferred, and where the highest ranking officers let their underlings speak on their behalf most of the time as those Romans did as well.

Areon weighed his options in his mind for a moment, deciding that the truth wouldn't hurt. “Yes, Centurion Victorius is right. I told him that I wanted him to kill me, but he refused, so I had to try it another way. It would be better for you if you killed me right now, as I'll be the doom of your men if you let me live, Roman. Plus, if you letting me live depends on me showing any kind of submission or servility towards you and calling you _'Domine'_ , then you'll have another good reason to kill me. I'll never call you that or acknowledge you as superior to me, Germanicus – neither you, nor any other human, not even the ruler you surely have.” He wouldn't call any human _'Domine',_ not matter how brave and strong they were, but the Roman chief commander had shown astonishing strength and courage so far, and Areon was willing to honor his demeanor and address him with his name instead of just solely referring to him as 'Roman' or 'human' like Wraith usually did with their food source.

The Roman was clever enough to acknowledge his display of cooperation and waved his hand at his subordinate imperiously. “Leave him be, Caelius. He shall be questioned before I'll think about his request to die from my hand, and his pride about his origin is actually no reason to have him killed, but something I can understand and respect.”

“As you wish, Domine.” The Roman called Caelius drew his sword back from Areon's throat with apparent reluctance and regret, but he obeyed without any protest, and he slowly removed his knee from his body to let Areon sit up again. The Wraith did, his eyes traveling to Marcus' dark figure standing next to the curtain that served as a makeshift door to his bedroom. The young centurion returned his gaze, his face partly hidden in the shadows of the early night, but Areon could see several emotions flicker over his handsome male features thanks to his heightened vision. He could see the last shreds of anxiety fade, and he realized with amazement that Marcus must actually really have feared for his life.

There was relief that his chief commander hadn't given order to kill his new 'guest', the disappointment that Areon had made another attempt to let himself be killed and which he'd sensed a couple of minutes ago, anger about Areon's disrespectful behavior towards his admired chief commander – and burning curiosity to learn more about Areon and his Wraith kin. A cautious smile ghosted around Marcus' sensitive lips when their gazes locked for a moment, encouraging him and reassuring him at the same time, and Areon felt drawn to this special human again, the connection that had started to form between them like a tether he could cling to in the endless ocean of loneliness that was surrounding him and threatening to consume him.

“Victorius, please hand me the chair, I want us to be on the same level when I question your charge.” Germanicus' next words drew Areon's attention back to Marcus' superior, and he straightened his shoulders and rested his hands in his lap, adopting an equally proud and relaxed posture. Marcus left his spot next to the exit and took the single chair standing in one corner of his bedroom to carry the piece of furniture over to where his chief commander was waiting for it. Germanicus sat down on it and leaned back with his arms still folded across his chest, one of his foot tapping the ground in a thoughtful and most likely unconscious habit.

“So your name is Areon, and you call yourself Wraith. I must admit that I've never heard of this tribe,” the remarkable Roman leader started their conversation, and Areon inclined his head and regarded his counterpart with the same impassive expression as Germanicus' face showed.

“That's probably because we're not just a 'tribe', but another race – superior to you and from a... land so far away from here that you can never go there,” Areon replied after thinking carefully about his words for a few seconds. It was clear that he'd crashed in a timeline where the knowledge about alien races from other planets and space ships didn't exist, and he doubted that Germanicus would be willing to believe him if he claimed to come from another galaxy. Marcus would perhaps be willing to believe his story somewhen in the future, but not now, and the Wraith felt himself reluctant to upset the young centurion and make him lose what little trust he might have in his prisoner at this point of their acquaintance.

“I needed my... flying machine to come here,” he added, which wasn't even a lie, but more or less the truth, even though it was way more complicated than these humans would be able to comprehend.

“You could just say that to deceive us,” Germanicus countered, a small frown appearing between his brows. “If what you're saying were true, how come that you're speaking our language?”

“That's because your ancestors and ours were the same – eons ago.” Areon had been astonished about the obvious relation between Marcus' mother tongue Latin and his own language at first as well – both of them a derivation of the language of the Ancients – but it actually made sense as he and his brethren had been witnesses to their former Commander's research about where the Ancients had gone before they'd scuttled Atlantis in the depths of the ocean, and Earth was the most logical explanation. Considering that the Ancients were responsible for the existence of the Wraith, it wasn't really a lie what he'd just said either.

“How can you know that?” Germanicus' frown deepened, but it was Marcus' irritation and sudden mistrust coming off of him in strong vibes that made Areon try to search for the most believable explanation that was still close enough to the truth. “We've been studying our history and the origin of our ancestors for a long time, and there were rumors about a land far away from ours where other... people must live, other descendants of those we Wraith are coming from as well. We wanted to see for ourselves whether or not these stories were true, and if there were truly other races existing and perhaps being related to us. So we built special vessels that are able to fly through... the air to come here and meet you.”

The real purpose behind their wish to find Earth was nothing Marcus and his chief commander needed to know at this point, they would find out about his 'eating habits' soon enough, and Areon suppressed the discomfort he felt at the alternated version of the real story behind his crash vigorously. He didn't owe these humans anything, and he should better not get involved with Marcus and his Roman brothers more than he already was.

“And where is the land you're coming from? The Roman Empire is the biggest empire of the world, there are only few places where we haven't been so far. But we will find them and add them to our empire too, there's no doubt about that left.” Germanicus sounded so proud of what his Roman ancestors had achieved, and Areon felt another connection build between him and the remarkable humans he'd just encountered. They were so unaware and fragile, their lifespan nothing more than the blink of an eye in the eternity of the universe and compared to the existence of any Wraith, and yet they were so arrogant to believe that they owned the world and could achieve whatever they put their minds to. It was as irritating and infuriating as it was admirable.

They were proud, curious and insistent, never accepting a no or their obvious defeat, and Areon had to think of his former and once so admired Commander and his fascination for John Sheppard again, asking himself how things would have turned out to be if he and his brethren hadn't been so arrogant and foolish themselves, supporting the second's mutiny and flying right into their doom instead of trusting their Commander and support his attempts for a real alliance with Atlantis. The Wraith warrior shook himself out of his futile contemplation, meeting Germanicus' eyes as he searched his vague memories from before his crash for the most believable setting.

“I come from the other side of the huge ocean,” he finally said, hoping that he was right with his judgment that his new acquaintances hadn't managed to build ships that were actually capable of sailing the huge and deep ocean so far. Judging by their equipment and behavior they probably didn't have so far, but Areon knew from terrible experience how stupid it was to underestimate these Earthlings, so maybe Marcus' Romans were actually skilled sailors and even possessed territories on the continent on the other side of the oceans he'd seen from outer space.

“Your vessel was able to cross the large ocean?” Marcus spoke up, sounding disbelieving and intrigued at the same time, and Areon raised his eyes to him as he remembered that Marcus was the only one of the three Romans who'd actually seen his dart so far. He'd pulled him out of it, so of course he would wonder about that.

“Yes, Marcus. There was a malfunction in my... impetus – and as I've already explained to you it was never my intention to crash here right between your front-lines with those you call Teutons. I'd merely been sent as a scout to gather information about you, and I was supposed to return to my brethren and tell them about you so we could think about the best way to contact you.”

“I see.” Marcus' face closed up, and Areon held his breath, expecting the centurion to tell his chief commander what he'd told Marcus earlier about the death of his brothers, but the dark-haired Roman remained silent and just pressed his lips to a thin line.

“You could still be one of Arminius' spies and tell us this story to lure us right into another trap of this traitorous bastard,” The Roman officer with the name Caelius intervened, and Areon turned his head to look at him.

“From what Centurion Victorius told me I have to assume that my vessel was destroyed beyond repair, so I can't return to my own race. Give me a sword and I'll prove to you that I don't belong to this Arminius and his barbarians. I'd rather die on the battlefield or from your hand – now – than the slow death of a prisoner,” he said, meeting Germanicus' eyes in a silent challenge again.

“Or you will use the opportunity to kill as many Romans as possible if we were so foolish to believe your word just like that and give you a weapon.” Caelius snorted mockingly, while the chief commander just regarded him thoughtfully.

Areon shrugged his shoulders. “I'm weak after my crash, but I don't need a weapon to kill you, Roman. I'm faster and stronger than you can even imagine, and nothing would stop me from taking your life if I wished to do that. My race is superior to you, but I'd rather stay with you and fight against your enemies than having to live among humans that are lacking even more of an appropriate culture and technology than you're doing.”

Germanicus' glance became dark at Areon's insulting words, but he possessed an astonishing amount of self-control, and he raised his hand in dismissal when Caelius growled:

“Please, Domine, let me end this and fulfill his wish to die. Let me show him how 'inferior' we are and silence him forever! This is just a trick to hand us over to his barbaric friends and the traitor Arminius Rome has fed at her breast for far too long!”

“No, you won't do that. I don't believe all of what you've told us, Areon, but I don't think that you're one of Arminius' men either. None of the Teutons we've caught in the past have ever denied their origin when they became our prisoners so far, they were all proud of their descent and never lied about it, and you seemed to speak the truth when you said that your race don't share the same ancestry with the Teuton tribes we know. Besides, your accent doesn't sound Germanic either.” The chief commander waved a hand at Marcus, and the young centurion stepped forward and bent down to him.

“Domine?” he asked, and Germanicus pursed his lips, his eyes never leaving Areon's alien male features.

“Tell me your opinion, Victorius. Do you trust this man enough to give him a sword and let him fight at your side? Do you believe in his story enough to give him the chance and prove his trustworthiness to us?” the impressive commander wanted to know, and Areon unconsciously held his breath as he waited for Marcus' answer. The emptiness in his mind was still threatening to drive him insane, the prospect of living a lonely life among inferior humans and without any chance to ever return to his own kin again scaring the hell out of him, but there was this strange bond between him and this one special human, and he found himself really wanting to get to know Marcus better, to learn everything about him that there was to learn, his wish to live and explore this bond becoming stronger than his wish to die with every minute he spent in the company of the handsome and fascinating centurion.

Marcus craned his neck to look at Areon as he pondered his superior's question, and the Wraith got the impression that he was somehow able to look right into his soul. Humans were head-blind, but he could feel Marcus reaching out for him, touching his mind and soul and making the emptiness and loneliness less painful and more bearable.

“Yes, I trust him, Domine. I believe that he's telling the truth that he doesn't have any business with the traitor Arminius, and that he won't raise his sword against us if we provide him with a weapon, anything else will have to become clearer as time goes by though. You know that I don't have any death wish, Domine, and I believe the promise he gave me that he won't attack me - so I would actually trust him to cover my back. Call me foolish, but my gut feeling has never betrayed me so far, and it tells me that he's spoken the truth.” A small smile tugged at the corner of Marcus' mouth when he saw the disbelief on Areon's face that he was willing to trust him after knowing him for little more than a few hours.

He remembered how the Commander had proven his trustworthiness to Colonel Sheppard again and again, putting his own life at risk – and that of his crew – and yet Sheppard had never been willing to put his faith in him to the same extent, just because the Commander was _Wraith –_ never acknowledging him as the individual he was and insisting that all Wraith were just the same and only a dead Wraith was a good one.

Of course Marcus didn't know anything about the way how Wraith gained their nutrients and kept themselves alive, and he didn't know anything about their immortality, inhuman strength and telepathic abilities either, nothing about what Areon and his brethren had actually come to Earth for in the first place. But that Marcus Antonius Victorius, a proud Roman and experienced soldier, was offering his trust to him was yet like an unexpected and precious gift. He was apparently willing to give Areon a chance to prove himself to his captors, and this although his beloved empire was at war with a lethal enemy and he still couldn't really know whether or not Areon was an enemy or a possible ally either.

Marcus' display of faith in him was even more precious as Areon was certain that trust didn't come easily to the young centurion after what this Arminius must have done to him and his comrades. Areon recognized Arminius as a Latin name, and according to the little information he'd gotten and the word 'traitor' Marcus and his superior always used to describe the Teuton, Arminius must once have been someone they'd trusted until he'd turned against Rome.

Marcus seemed to read his thoughts again, or at least in his face, because his smile deepened, and he added with a cunning look in his eyes: “Besides, Areon owes me his life, as Arminius' accomplices would surely have killed him and not saved him from his damaged flying vessel. As I am willing to go back where we've found him to bring the vessel to our camp, he has no reason to kill me, at least not until we've accomplished this mission together.”

“You'll do that?” Areon asked, and Marcus nodded his head. “For tactical reasons. We cannot allow Arminius to lay his hands on your vessel, damaged or not.”

“You're right with that, Victorius. We'll plan this mission first thing in the morning tomorrow. There's nothing we can do now as it's too dark, but I want that vessel, too. Maybe it can even be repaired.” Germanicus decided, drawing their attention back to himself.

Areon doubted that, but hope was the last thing to die, and suddenly he felt a small glimpse of hope again, clinging to it and not willing to let go of it again.

“You'll have my full cooperation, Germanicus, at least until I know how bad the damage actually is, and you have my word that I won't turn a weapon against your soldiers unless it would become necessary for self-defense.” The Wraith warrior didn't want to think too closely about whether or not the need to feed would count as self-defense, and it surprised and disturbed him at the same time that he felt this sudden discomfort at the thought of feeding on one of Marcus' soldiers. Maybe he'd get the opportunity to feast on some of Arminius' Teutons, actually his main reason to go back to his dart and into Teuton territory as the chances that his dart could be repaired were going to zero. And even if he could bring it back to life, the return to his brethren was still impossible because he didn't know how many years the solar flare had thrown him back into the past, so all he could possibly do was trying to keep himself alive until one day far in the future the Super-Hive would show up over Earth.

Maybe, this was the reason why some wicked fate had brought him here, Areon thought, that he remained stuck on Earth for decades and centuries to prepare everything for the arrival of his brethren and make sure that they wouldn't make the same mistake they had made the first time and die in the battle against the united forces of Earth and Atlantis. It was another hope he could cling to, although he wasn't so sure how he should bear such a long time without going insane.

He couldn't hibernate and bridge long time-spans this way as he didn't have the equipment for building a functioning hibernation pod, and he didn't know if and what kind of technology the Ancients had left on Earth. They must have come here long before the Romans had gained power and become an empire, Areon at least thought that this must be the case, but he couldn't be sure about that either.

So many questions, and so little answers to them. He could feel a headache building in his empty mind, and he felt tired down to his bones and overwhelmed by all the assaults of his heightened senses, the smells of human skin and sweat, of feces, leftovers of meals and sharp stenches of animals, everything became too much. He swallowed against the bout of nausea rising in him, utterly grateful when Germanicus noticed his poor state after a look at his face.

“Very well, I share your judgment, Victorius. I think it best if Areon will stay with you for the time being, there's no need to draw more attention to your temporary guest and cause any possible problems among the legionaries with that. He's still recovering from his accident, and it's late, so we'll leave you now. I'll expect your report after dawn tomorrow, Primus Pilus, we'll need to be fast if we want to get that flying machine.”

“Of course, Domine, we'll be there.” Marcus inclined his head in a respectful bow when his chief commander stood up, and Caelius shot Areon an angry look when the Wraith didn't do the same but just remained seated, but the imperator actually didn't seem to mind his impudent behavior too much.

“Get some rest, Wraith,” was all he said, “and remember that I'll take you up on your wish to die if you so much as only think of betraying Rome. It will be a slow and painful death waiting for you then, don't you doubt that.”

“I wouldn't expect any less from you, Germanicus,” Areon said with a snort, “I have no intention to do that, though, as that would mean that I'd have to live among humans that are even more barbaric than you are, and that prospect is definitely even less appealing to me than the thought of staying with your legions.”

Caelius went red with fury, but Germanicus surprised Areon when he proffered his hand to him with a short but truly amused chuckle. “I recognize an equal opponent when I see one. I don't really know you, Areon, not yet, but I give you the credit of coming from a race that actually know and appreciate the benefits of proper culture and civilization, so I won't take your words as the offense they were intended to be.”

Areon looked at his dressed right hand and then reached out to seal their temporary truce. Germanicus took it without the usual horror humans identified with the feeding hand of a Wraith, enclosing his wrist with a firm grip. Areon did the same, the gold of his broad bracelet cool against the bandage, and he felt more pleased and honored at Germanicus' gesture of trust and good will than he cared to admit.

Those Romans were truly the most fascinating humans he'd ever met, and maybe living with them wouldn't be as awful and bad as he'd first feared. Maybe he could learn from them and use the gained knowledge as an advantage for his brethren – whenever he'd see them again.

Hope was the last thing to die, and Areon decided that living was better than dying – whatever the future would bring.


	8. A new Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus and Areon are negotiating their sleeping arrangements, and both wake up with newly awakened spirits the next morning when a new day is dawning. Areon is learning more about Marcus, and he's coming to a decision about regarding his stay and future on Earth and especially regarding Marcus...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter took me so awfully long to finish and post, but Marcus and especially Areon had their own minds again and this chapter turned out to be totally different from what I had planned and is probably some kind of interlude.
> 
> Areon insisted on learning more about Marcus and his origin and intentions, and it will actually be a little bit easier to start and write the next one, though.
> 
>  _Ala_ , plural _Alae_ : Roman horse artillery consisting of about 120 riders. The commander of such an _Ala_ held the rank of a knight, called _eques_ , plural _equites_.
> 
> The three legions that were extinguished within three days during the Battle in the Teutoburg Forest were the _Legions XVII, XVIII and XIX_. Each legion usually had not only a number but a name as well, but only the name of the _Legion XIX_ is rather sure: _Minervia_. The names of the _Legions XVII_ and _XVIII_ are not known, so I had to come up with one of my own. As they were deployed _Vetera_ , (nowadays the city Haltern in North-Rhine Westphalia), close to Gaul, I chose _Celtia_ to be a good name for the _Legion XVII_. It is most likely that the Eagle of the _Legion XVII_ was won back by Germanicus in the year 16 AD, so I chose this Legion for my story.
> 
> The other Wraith name I mention in this chapter is my own version of the Gaelic name Kinnon, which means 'beautifully born'.
> 
> I hope that you will like the new chapter and the interaction and dynamic between Marcus and Areon. <33

“You can have the bed,” Marcus said when Germanicus and Caelius had left them again. “I'm used to sleeping on the ground.”

“Wraith do not require as much rest as humans do,” Areon replied indignantly, and Marcus, who was busying himself with unfolding another woolen blanket he'd taken out of the heavy wooden chest beside his bed, shot him an appraising and mocking glance with a raised dark eyebrow.

“I'm a Roman centurion, not just a simple human, _Wraith,”_ he retorted, “I am used to getting only few hours of sleep if the situation requires that I stay up and awake. You on the other hand were severely injured and in a deep coma when we found you, and I'm still wondering why there was only so little blood, but your injuries were probably mostly internal bleedings – which would usually kill everyone I know – whether they are Romans, Teutons or Wraith. You are for sure not an immortal god descended from heaven, and you are still pale like a ghost and look exhausted to say the least, so I suggest that you stop arguing and accept my offer instead – as I won't repeat it.”

“I'm always that pale, it's my skin color,” Areon said, gazing up at him, “and my injuries are mostly healed thanks to my self-healing powers.” He paused for a moment, contemplating the question if he should tell the impudent human that he was indeed immortal - at least when it came to aging - and that it took quite a lot to actually kill a Wraith, but then he decided against it. Marcus Antonius Victorius would find out that he was totally wrong about the true nature of his 'guest' sooner rather than later, and Areon was too tired to have another argument with anyone right now.

“You didn't inform your commander about what I told you of the probable death of my brethren. Why didn't you do that?” He therefore only asked, changing the topic, and Marcus stilled his hands and pursed his lips.

“I don't know, to be honest. You said that they are most likely dead, but that you can't know it for sure. I didn't want to risk that he'd fulfill your wish and kill you, I guess.”

“Why is it so important for you that I live, Marcus Antonius Victorius? You don't know anything about me, and I told you that I'll be your doom if you let me live, so why risking that my words will come true?”

Marcus dropped the blanket he'd been holding down onto the chest and looked down at him, his arms hanging loosely at his side. He was a trained soldier and therefore certainly had a really quick reaction time, regarding how fast the older Roman with the name Caelius had reacted when Areon had insulted his adored superior, but he would not be fast enough to draw his sword if Areon decided to attack him, now that he was fully awake and had partly recovered from the crash again. The Roman centurion wasn't stupid, and he must sense that Areon could become a lethal threat to him within the blink of an eye, yet he displayed such an amount of trust that Areon would keep his word and not try to harm him that it amazed the Wraith more than he wanted to admit.

“You are a man of honor, Areon, I can see that. Would you really break your word and attack me, even though you promised that you won't do that – at least not until we've saved your vessel?”

Areon swallowed. Marcus was so different from all the humans he'd ever known, and he wondered again whether or not his old Commander had felt the same way about Colonel Sheppard how he was beginning to feel about the young Roman centurion.

“No, Marcus, I will not break my word.”

“Then I don't need to fear that you'll try to kill me when I turn my back on you for a moment.” Marcus stated matter of factly.

“Kill you, not 'try' to kill you, Roman.” Areon corrected him as he glanced up at the human with the handsome features, but there was no menace or threat in his green-golden gaze, he was merely stating a fact as well.

“Of course, Areon. I believe you that, and I don't make the mistake of underestimating you, don't worry. Quintilius Varus made the mistake and underestimated Arminius and his warriors, trusting the traitor against better judgment and the warnings he'd gotten even from Arminius own relatives, but we won't do the same mistake, not again.”

A shadow darkened Marcus' features, and Areon could see heartbreaking grief flickering in his silvery gaze for the blink of an eye, grief that had accompanied the centurion for a long time and was still an open wound. It was the same kind of grief Areon was feeling when he thought of his own brethren, the kind of grief that would never fully heal to a thin white scar, but one that would always start bleeding again if someone – or a memory in Marcus' case – was tugging at the jagged margins of the deep wound.

The fascinating Roman was a brave warrior which Areon as a warrior himself could respect, and the Wraith knew better than to tear the wound open with the question who this Quintilius Varus was and simply gestured to the bed instead to distract the dark-haired man from his grief.

“Are you sure that you don't want the bed? I don't mind sleeping on the floor,” he wanted to know, and Marcus' genuine smile filled him with a strange warmth he'd never felt before because of a simple smile.

“I am sure, Areon. I don't know how it is possible that your body healed without any real medical help, but you'll be more comfortable in the bed. I'll need you well tomorrow when we're going back to your vessel to salvage it.”

Areon nodded. “Very well. Sleep well, then, Roman,” he said, and Marcus let out a snort and reached for the woolen blanket again.

“Good night, Wraith,” he gave back, putting the blanket onto the floor of the tent. Areon lay back on the mattress to watch his Roman host reach for the fastenings of his armor to remove it from his body for the night. Knowing how these breastplates were held together might become important for him somewhere in the future, so he paid close attention to the way Marcus undressed it.

The Roman centurion ignored him, but his face reddened ever so slightly under Areon's gaze, and the air in the tent became heavy with male pheromones of sexual desire. It surprised the Wraith that the Roman reacted to him this way, but he was attractive in his own special human way, Areon really had to give him that - and as most Wraith could never hope to arouse the attention of their queen in this regard, seeking male company when it came to intimacy was familiar to him. Marcus seemed to be deeply embarrassed about his reaction, though, and the Wraith warrior thought that nothing good would come out of it if he humiliated the young man in his own tent by letting him know that he was aware of his state and the unmistakable signs of desire he gave away.

Areon closed his eyes when he'd carefully burnt the shape and fastenings of the armor into his memory, and he fell asleep to Marcus' even breaths some time later, the mental screams of his dying brethren following him into his restless slumber of exhaustion.

*~*~*

Marcus woke up when it was still dark outside, and like usually, he was wide awake and knew where he was within one blink of the eye and the next.

Just another new day was dawning, yet this morning was different from all the previous ones, and his gaze flew to the bed instantly, a small sigh escaping him when his searching eyes found the dark figure of his guest curled up on his bed. Areon lay there still and motionless like a marble statue, but Marcus' instincts told him that he wasn't sleeping any longer.

“Good morning,” he said, pushing the blanket to the side to get up. His muscles felt sore after having lain on hard ground for several hours, but his temporary discomfort would pass quickly again when he was up and moving for a while.

“Good morning,” Areon greeted him in return, “how did you know that I wasn't sleeping any longer?”

“Instinct,” Marcus gave back, stretching his arms when he stood. He halted when he felt the Wraith's eyes on his body, and the memory how Areon had watched him undress his armor last night let warmth rise in his cheeks.

Marcus had never been ashamed of his body, he was fit and well-trained, and the scars that crossed his arms, his legs and his torso were well-earned in countless battles and signs of his bravery and profession he wore with pride. But the thorough and intensive scrutiny of the other male, so different from himself and everyone Marcus knew, made him feel uncertain and self-conscious all of a sudden.

Areon seemed to sense his discomfort, because he raised his eyes to Marcus' face and said:

“Wouldn't clothes that protect your body much better be more sufficient, Marcus? This short tunic seems not to be very efficient to me. Trousers for example would protect your legs much more efficiently, and also keep your joints warm and mobile – which can be crucial in a battle.”

Marcus relaxed when he realized the reason for Areon's close observation – which was understandable considering his own clothing and the thick material of his garments. The Wraith must come from a land that was much colder than Rome – or colder than Germania during the summer months - because no Roman legionary would ever think of wearing heavy leather during the hottest months of the year, but Areon didn't show any visible reaction to the heat that was still lingering in Marcus' tent after several incredibly hot days.

“Roman soldiers don't wear trousers,” Marcus explained with a hint of disgust and contempt audible in his voice, “only when it's really freezing cold outside, and only when we're on patrol or have to camp on the open field, which doesn't happen often.”

“I see.” Areon murmured, “this seems to be odd, but if it suits you...”

“I have to see the Imperator, and I'll expect you to wait here for my return without causing any trouble as long as I'm away, Areon.” Marcus ended the discussion about Roman clothing before it could get more awkward than it already was. He also really needed to visit the latrines, but this was nothing he wanted to discuss either, and the Wraith simply nodded his head.

“I'll wait here for you, don't worry. I don't have any other place to go anyway,” he said with a hint of mockery and sadness in his weird multi-toned voice. “But I request to get my shirt and my coat back before we leave the camp to salvage my Dart.”

“Your what?” Marcus inquired with a frown, and Areon sighed.

“My vessel. We call this kind of vessels 'Dart'.”

“I see. My men have taken your shirt and your coat to examine them, but I'll get them back for you later, Areon. Are you sure that you don't want to test the food I can offer you before we'll leave?”

“I am sure, so don't bother yourself about that. But some water would be helpful,” his guest replied, and Marcus wondered again how Areon was to regain his strength and get the nutrients his body surely required like any other living being if he refused to eat the food Marcus could offer him. His guest hadn't asked for the way to the latrines so far either, which was another odd thing about him, but Marcus wasn't sure how to address this delicate topic himself without things getting awkward again.

“Alright, just water and your clothes, then,” he simply agreed therefore, stepping to the rack where he kept his armor to dress it with practiced motions. Areon was watching him silently once more, but Marcus ignored him as best as he could – and also tried to ignore the strange tingling in his abdomen the Wraith's observation aroused in him. This was not the time or place to let his most secret desires rise to the surface, and Marcus would fight against them with all he had if necessary, no matter how tempting the Wraith who'd turned his world upside down so unexpectedly might be.

*~*~*

Areon had to wait for a rather long time until Marcus returned to him, and the Wraith used the opportunity that offered itself to him to examine the contents of the heavy wooden chest and learn more about the young Roman this way. The centurion possessed only useful things like some tools and items he needed to keep his weapons intact and sharp, some more of these ridiculous clothes and several parchment rolls with a script that resembled those letters Areon knew from the first Lanteans, but which looked yet so different that it would take some time to learn and actually read it.

The Wraith guessed that these rolls were books meant more for entertainment and recreation rather than for education, perhaps a mixture of both. Areon was a warrior, and his duties on board his Hive had been all about protecting the Hive and the scientists working in the labs or during their visits of different worlds and facilities, but he'd always loved reading the reports they had written when their work was done, especially those of the historians and geologists. He'd also always read other books of all sorts and kinds, eager to gain more knowledge that would perhaps even help him to climb the ladder of rank one day. It wasn't common habit for warriors to be interested in books and reading, and some of his brethren, especially the younger high ranking officers, had reacted with contemptuous remarks when he'd visited the library each Hive possessed, wary that he would become a threat to their own ambitions if he proceeded like that.

There had been a scientist, Kinion, a rather young historian Areon had been assigned to protect him during off-world missions, and Kinion had appreciated his hunger and thirst for knowledge and encouraged him to draw his own conclusions out of the discoveries the scientists were making while Areon was standing on guard duty next to them and without anything to do that would challenge and occupy his mind. Sometimes Kinion had invited him to play one of the strategic board games with him, and Areon had learned a lot about the scripts or traces long gone cultures had left overall in Pegasus during their talks. Humans had always been mostly food in Areon's thinking – and the thinking of the other warriors and officers as well - but at least the first Lanteans had possessed a culture and technology which had been superior to everything the Wraith themselves had ever built, and they had been humans like these weird Romans he was now stuck with.

There were also two small pictures hidden under the red and white tunics in the chest, and Areon picked them up to regard them more closely. The first picture showed a single male Roman, dressed similar like Marcus, but older and with grayish hair peeking out under the helmet. His features looked pretty familiar, and Areon thought that he had to be a relative to Marcus, probably his father. Wraith didn't have families like humans, they had a queen and brethren who shared the same Hivemind, and they knew friendship and love like any other sentient and intelligent living being with a rich world of emotion, but those small clan-like families and their special bonds were nothing Areon would ever fully understand.

The second picture when he turned his attention to it showed Marcus and another man who looked so similar to him that Areon gasped out in surprise and wondered for a moment why the unknown artist had painted a picture with two Marcii on it, until he realized that one of them wasn't Marcus himself, but must be his brother, his twin-brother most likely. Sometimes Wraith culled identical twins and kept them in their cocoons – or only one of them without the other, which made the trapped one cry for their other half – and the special bond between human twins that actually resembled the telepathic bond of Hive-brothers, only not as strong – had always fascinated the Wraith warrior.

“That's I and my brother Gaius Antonius Secundus.”

Areon's head snapped up at the sound of Marcus' voice. He'd been so immersed in his observation of the pictures that he hadn't heard the man coming back into the tent, and he chided himself for his lack of attention. He was either still weaker than he'd thought – or Marcus' abilities to move soundlessly were much better than he'd given him credit for.

The Roman was standing near the curtain and watching him with an unreadable expression on his face, his emotions carefully locked away to hide them from his still so foreign and mysterious guest.

“Yes, I thought so. You are identical twins, aren't you?”

Marcus' jaw worked, and he nodded almost reluctantly. “Yes, we are.”

“Is he not serving in this legion together with you?” Areon hadn't wanted to reveal his curiosity like that, but the question had slipped from his tongue before he'd been able to stop it.

“No.”

Areon waited, and after a moment Marcus sighed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“One of us had to stay in Rome and see to our parents and make sure that our family would continue to exist. Gaius was the... better one of us for this task.”

Marcus' short moment of hesitation wasn't lost on Areon, and he was reminded of the Roman's physical reaction to him last night once more. If the young centurion preferred to lie with another man, it was obvious why he would leave it up to his brother to marry and have children as human sexuality was different from that of Wraith and their genetic devotion for their Queens – regardless of their own actual preferences to either seek male company or try to win the affection of a Queen at all cost and perhaps find themselves a willing female worshiper as a substitute if they didn't achieve that goal.

The Wraith soon realized that this was apparently not the only reason why Marcus' brother didn't serve the Roman Empire as faithfully as Marcus did though – and as any Wraith would serve his queen - because the Roman added after another short pause of silence:

“When we were still young boys, Gaius was involved in an accident with a cart. He broke his foot and his ankle never healed fully. He can walk without using a stick nowadays, but the long marches with heavy baggage are nothing he could do, so it was up to me to fulfill the honorable duty and follow Rome's call to protect her borders and fight for her glory and honor.”

“I see.” Areon nodded, and he was attentive and sensitive enough to detect the feeling of shame Marcus felt at the behalf of his twin-brother that Gaius was impaired and therefore incapable of serving in the Roman legions.

“Was this incident the fault of your brother, Marcus? Was he so careless to be the cause for this accident that injured him?” he wanted to know, and Marcus frowned, but slowly shook his head.

“No, not at all. It was all the fault of the careless ox-driver,” he said, his voice too quiet to still hold the bitterness of an accident that had happened so many years ago.

“Then neither your brother Gaius, nor you have any reason to feel ashamed about it and your brother's handicap that keeps him from serving in your proud legions. Granting the existence of your family and raising children for the glory of your beloved home is a very honorable task, Marcus.” the Wraith offered, and the young centurion blinked in surprise, but then his features relaxed, and he looked almost grateful.

“Thank you, Areon,” he murmured, shaking himself out of his state to cross the small compartment and walk over to where Areon was sitting on the edge of the bed beside the wooden chest. He offered the Wraith the cup with water he'd brought and took the pictures out of Areon's clawed fingers to stare down at them, a soft wistful smile ghosting around his sensitive lips. The Wraith regarded him from the side, and he longed to reach out and touch the other man to share his grief.

The emptiness in his head had dulled to a throb that wasn't as painful as the sharp ache of the previous day, but it was still all-consuming and unbearable, and sitting so close to Marcus that they were almost touching somehow seemed to help him and ease the pain of his terrible loss at least a little bit.

“You miss him,” he said as he took a sip from his water, and Marcus let out another sigh.

“Every single minute of the day. Our bond was strong – it still is – and I feel as if I'd lost one of my limbs. Until a few years ago I was serving in another legion and stationed closer to Rome. I could visit my family more often and spend time with my parents, Gaius, his wife Julia and their twins Marcus and Publius, but it has been more than two years now since I last saw them.”

“Why didn't you stay there? Were you ordered to come here and join this legion?” Areon felt intrigued, and listening to Marcus' story, and most of all to his warm voice, helped him forgetting his own loss for a few precious minutes. Apart from that, learning everything he could about his new hosts would help him to set up a plan for the future and what to do next, as gaining as much information as possible was crucial for him.

“No, only by the oath I have sworn,” Marcus replied, looking down at the picture with the older man who was dressed like him. “I didn't rest until I was granted a place in this legion, the proud Roman _Legion I Germanica._ I actually wanted to join the _Legion V Alaudae_ deployed in Vetera, but Germanicus refused my request because this legion needed a new Primus Pilus and he wanted me for this post. As long as I can stay here in Germanica and fight against Arminius' traitorous barbarians, I am fine with his decision. My promotion to the rank of a Primus Pilus also means that I can support my family with more money.”

“But why would you want to serve here in this wooded and barbaric country if it means that you can't see your family anymore?” Areon would never understand humans and their way of thinking, he was sure of that.

Marcus darted him a brief glance before he looked down at the picture again. He was stroking over the face of the unknown legionary with tender fingertips absently, and the was this heartbreaking sorrow visible in his fascinating silvery eyes again.

“Because I have sworn the oath to revenge him, and to restore his honor until there is no doubt left that he was a brave and faithful servant of Mother Rome. I have sworn to bring the Roman Eagle back he has lost, and I will either fulfill the oath I have sworn at the altar of Mars and by Jupiter and all other Roman gods – or die while trying to fulfill it. It's up to the gods to decide about my fate and whether or not they will grant me my wish and let me fulfill that oath.”

“Who was he, your father?” Areon was used to humans crying and sobbing over their losses or when they were begging for their lives, but Marcus' eyes were dry, and he knew that some losses and aches were too severe and too painful to shed tears over them.

“No, he was my uncle – the twin-brother of my father. Twins are common and known in my family, especially male twins. His name was Marcus Antonius Maximus, but his Commander, Publius Qunitilius Varus, led him and his legion – together with two other proud Roman legions - right into their doom. Arminius, who'd pretended to be Rome's faithful son and ally, lured Varus into an ambush, and he slaughtered all of our brethren up to the last man. More than fifteen thousand good Roman legionaries died because of this traitor, and my uncle, the Primus Pilus of the _Legion XVII Celtia,_ died together with his men.

Three golden Roman Eagles fell into Arminius' barbaric hands, and only a few hundred Romans survived the butchery and made it to Aliso, one of our fortified camps. In Rome, the murdered Roman soldiers are regarded as cowards and their families have to live with the shame now. Germanicus is not like that, fortunately, he's judging the worth of a man by his actions and mindset, and I will forever be indebted to him that he gave me this chance and even promoted me to the Primus Pilus of one of his legions.

I had to prove myself to each single one of my men again after that terrible loss and disgrace of Rome's honor and pride, and I have earned their trust and admiration and fought against many Teutons ever since I came here, but I am no closer to getting the Eagle back to restore the good reputation and honor of my uncle – who was like a second father to Gaius and me and is the reason why I wanted to serve Mother Rome like he did in the first place...”

Marcus' voice trailed off, and he put the pictures back into the chest with awkward motions, closing the wooden lid with a loud thumping noise.

“I don't even know why I'm telling you all of this,” he chided himself, “you could still be a traitor and one of Arminius' allies. I believe you that your kin is not of Teuton origin, but I don't know anything about you – and the story you told yesterday does not sound believable to me in every detail.”

Areon couldn't blame Marcus for his mistrust, and the young Roman was surely sensitive enough to realize that his strange guest was hiding a lot from him and not telling the whole truth. Yet he'd been willing to treat him more like a guest than a prisoner so far, and as stupid and dangerous as it might be for himself, but the Wraith warrior found himself incapable of merely thinking that he should just drain the fascinating human dry and kill him.

He would have to feed sooner rather than later, but he was hesitant to do that on either Marcus or his soldiers, who were obviously family and something like Hive to the dark-haired centurion, and Areon did understand and honor the young man's wish to revenge his uncle and save his reputation and honor after his death. He didn't know what a 'Roman Eagle' was, or why winning back this thing again was so important to him, but he respected him as the tough and strong warrior and fighter he obviously was, and Areon was willing to help Marcus achieve his goal if he got the chance to do that.

He was stuck on Earth among these humans anyway, he couldn't return to his own brethren anymore, and Marcus would most likely not be too angry and unhappy if Areon helped him taking his revenge by feeding on some of his enemies. His most pressing concern was to return to his damaged Dart and see if there was something he could save and use left from the wreckage next to his need to feed, and if Marcus was right with what he'd said about Arminius' barbarians coming to check the mysterious machine and the place where it had fallen from the sky as well, then he would hopefully get the chance to feed on some of them and restore his own strength this way.

“I am not one of Arminius' allies, Marcus,” he said solemnly, “I know that you don't have any real reason to trust me, and even though you're right that we still only know little about each other, but I have no reason to betray or kill you, this at least is the truth. I have no place to go, and I will help you revenging your uncle and winning back this eagle that seems to be so important to you – whatever an eagle actually is. But first we must return to my Dart and see what's left of it, and I would advise that we'll leave your camp as soon as possible – so we'll reach it before your enemies will get there.”

Marcus straightened his shoulders and stood up. “Yes, you're right, Areon. I've brought you your shirt and your coat, and I have talked to Germanicus while you've been waiting for me. Two cohorts will accompany us, sixteen hundred men should be enough to defend us against the smaller hordes that have been attacking us over the last weeks. I agree with our Imperator that Arminius is still trying to unite the other tribes with his own Cherusci – which are not a real unit either – so he can't have more than several hundred or perhaps one or two thousand warriors under his command at this point. They are brave and fierce warriors, I have to give them that, but we are not as gullible as Varus has been, and we will be prepared in case he's foolish enough to attack us. One _Ala_ will come with us as well, together with several oxcarts to bring your flying machine to our camp.”

Areon would actually have preferred to go there alone with Marcus, but he wasn't strong enough to carry a Dart all alone, and he doubted that Germanicus would trust him enough to let his precious Primus Pilus go with him without his men. So he just nodded his agreement and dressed with his shirt, and this time it was Marcus who was staring at him.

“Your body paintings, do they have any meaning?” the Roman asked, his cheeks warming as he averted his eyes and his physical reaction to Areon's virility perfumed the air in the tent. “Sorry, I shouldn't ask you such personal questions,” he murmured sheepishly, and the warrior bared his pointed teeth to a wolfish smile.

“Yes, they have. One day I might tell you more about my tattoos, Roman,” Areon purred, and Marcus' blush increased ever so slightly. He turned around in the futile attempt to hide his feelings from his guest, busying himself with checking his armor and his weapons before they would leave the camp to salvage the Dart. The Wraith paused in his motion, and the prospect of conquering the human who was so obviously desiring him sent a pleasant thrill along his spine. Areon regarded the dark-haired Roman as Marcus moved around in his tent like the huntsman would regard his prey, and another small predatory smile appeared on his face.

No, he wouldn't feed on Marcus Antonius Victorius, the human was too beautiful and fascinating to bereave himself of his inspiring company. But he could try to conquer him and make him give in to his secret desire eventually, and it would be a task as worthwhile and rewarding as feasting on his surely delicious life-force would be - and the pleasure he would gain out of that would even last longer than the pleasure and satisfaction that would come from draining him of his delicious strength.

Now Areon had a reason to live and make sure that the young centurion would stay alive as well, and maybe, just maybe being stuck on Earth would turn out to be not as awful and lonesome as he'd first feared it to be.

Only time would tell, but hope was the last thing to die, and Areon was not the one to give up on his hope that easily, now that he had made up his mind and found something worth living for.

Marcus' back was stiff because he could feel the Wraith staring at him, and he craned his head and asked from over his shoulder:

“Are you ready to go?”

Areon closed the last fastenings of his coat and inclined his head. “Whenever you are, Marcus.”

“Well, I am. But I have to warn you, my men will still be mistrustful and regard you as their enemy.”

“I wouldn't expect anything else, Roman. They would be pretty foolish to trust me. But I can take care of myself, don't worry.”

Marcus sighed. “Fine, let's go then. The sooner we'll leave, the sooner we'll reach your 'Dart'.”

He started off towards the curtain, and Areon followed him out of the tent, suddenly really curious what this new day would have in store for him.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fanart for 'Under the Eagle's Shadow'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24848764) by [picturae (Eos_x)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eos_x/pseuds/picturae)




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